


If Only

by WordsofForgiveness



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempted Sexual Assault, Completely FICTIONAL GOT7 parents, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Maybe smut? We'll see, Mentioned Past Child Abuse, Misunderstandings, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, Touch of violence (not much though)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2019-11-27 05:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 91,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18190394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsofForgiveness/pseuds/WordsofForgiveness
Summary: Jaebum, finally, has come to terms with the fact he's an omega.  It has taken him a while, but he has.Seriously.Or at least he had, until he meets Jackson Wang.





	1. Tolerating

     Jaebum was, by all appearances, a stereotypical alpha.

     Sure, he mightn’t be the tallest or most physically imposing guy, but there’s a broadness to his shoulders, resting coldness to his eyes, and firmness to his jaw that have made more than one passerby automatically dip their heads and shift to offer him a little more space as they approach him on the sidewalk. It suits Jaebum just fine...he’s always had a firmly entrenched sense of his own personal space, and close physical contact or skinship with virtually anyone was something in which he had never found particular comfort or pleasure. His temper flares too hot, too often, and he has been told his usually gruff and brooding demeanor can be intimidating and more than a little off-putting. He takes pride in his physique, in keeping active and fit, and its clear in the solidness of his frame that he could more than hold his own if someone happened to instigate a little altercation.

     So by all measures, to assume Jaebum is an alpha would be fair. Jaebum himself had assumed he was an alpha for the first sixteen years of his life. That is, until he woke up at 2:30 one morning, a few months after his birthday, to an unbearable heat, ringing in his ears, pounding between his eyes, and sheets soaked with sweat and...some other fluid.

     At first, he’d thought he was dying. He certainly felt like he was dying, felt like his room was a furnace and he was burning alive, when he could almost feel his blood bubbling and boiling him from the inside out. It had taken him a few disoriented minutes before he realized the harsh panting in his room was coming from him, was coming from the stuttering breaths that were ripping themselves painfully from his chest. He’d almost been ready to scream for help, until he had shifted in his discomfort and his dick had brushed against the mattress, sending the heat tumbling in his gut, his hips bucking for more friction, a moan ripping itself from his throat, and a trickle of something cascading down his thigh and....oh.

     Oh.

     He hadn’t known what to do. It had never occurred to him, nor to his family, that he would be anything but an alpha. Sure, his presentation had been delayed if not downright late for an alpha, who on average presented a few years earlier than omegas, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. So his parents had continued in their awkward coaching of how to handle that first rut, of the need for protection when he eventually found his omega mate, and other tremendously uncomfortable discussions that often culminated in Jaebum all but begging to be excused and trudging upstairs to flop face-down on his bed and just....try to think about anything other than what had just happened. The fact he would be an alpha had always been so expected, so certain, that he’d never felt the need to pay much attention in his dynamics class. Sure, he’d heard stories from classmates who’d gotten their heats, when they returned to school after a few days of absence looking exhausted, bags dug deep beneath their eyes, and smelling vaguely sweeter than usual, but the stories had always left him feely oddly nauseated and he’d become accustomed to tuning them out. So he’d never learned what to do when the first heat struck, as it always did, like a freight train.

     To Jaebum’s addled brain, then, the best option had seemed to be to simply get rid of the evidence, because maybe this was just a normal thing alphas went through when on the brink of presenting? He didn’t know. So he’d managed to crawl out of bed, which his spinning head had abruptly informed him was a terrible idea, and scrambled to rip the sheets from mattress and nearly fell as he stumbled down the stairs.

     His mother had found him like that, trembling on the floor beside the washing machine downstairs. He’d been sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall opposite the machine, more by necessity than choice because when he’d stood up from hastily throwing the sheets in the machine his head had just spun and his knees crumpled. She’d turned on the light, eyes squinting as they roamed from the machine to her son just sprawled out on the floor, face more ashen than it ought to be, face glistening with sweat, and eyes an odd mixture of dazed, terrified, and disbelieving as they’d stared at the sheets swirling among the bubbles. She’d just opened her mouth to ask what the hell he was doing on the floor, and why the hell he was doing laundry at 3:00 in the morning, when she breathed in and smelled him.

     Sweetness. Vanilla and sugar and something not quite like icing, but close.

     Omega.

     His family had been....fine with it. Eventually. His mother had gathered him up and thrown fresh sheets on his bed before tucking him in again and just...leaving him be. She hadn’t said anything, but her silence and the slight sheen in her eyes when Jaebum met them in the moonlight as she’d left his room had been telling enough. Disappointment. He couldn’t blame her, not really, when he was equally disappointed in himself. Both sides of his family were well-known in the local community for having proud and long-standing records of alpha offspring with alpha mates and alpha heirs. Jaebum was the first omega on either side of his family tree for generations, apparently symbolizing a weakness and corruption in what had been such a strong bloodline, and the knowledge of his failure simultaneously settled low in his stomach and rose high in his throat. It had taken weeks for his dad to be able to meet his eyes for more than a second, and when he started to, Jaebum recognized in his stare the same resignation.

     Still, to this day, Jaebum’s omega-ness is something that goes undiscussed in his family. It had appeared in one conversation, after Jaebum had suffered through his second heat, in a very awkward and humiliating discourse in which he’d been assured his parents would - very discretely - obtain some toys to assist him in his future heats, and introduce him to his mother’s friend’s son, Jinyoung. A beta born with nearly, if not quite the same, humiliation into a similarly long-standing alpha line, the boy would help him with his heats, they said, to offer the physical contact needed to minimize their length without risking the....unfortunate possibility of pregnancy. He’d help until Jaebum lived up to his new expectation, of finding a strong alpha mate who’d not only ensure the Im line lived on, but re-introduce into the family bloodline an apparently needed infusion of potent alpha energy.

     Jaebum had been bitter, bitter for a long time to a point that probably hadn’t been healthy, bitter to the point that his first dozen or so heats had been absolute hell because he’d refused to let Jinyoung touch him in favour of just lying there stewing in the misery of it all. Jinyoung had eventually pulled him from that, rolling his eyes and scoffing and crossing his arms in a way that had set a pre-heat and thus already irritated Jaebum ablaze with a fury that had quickly sizzled when he finally, finally, broke down. Jinyoung had held him then, Jabeum’s face wet with tears and tucked neatly into the beta's neck, nosing over the scent gland that was emanating vanilla and musk, stability and softness and comfort. Jinyoung had started helping with his heats then, too, hands gentle yet firm as they ran over Jaebum with a kindness and reliability that had him aching from relief.

     There wasn’t anything romantic between them. There never had been. Jinyoung would later, under the influence of far too much soju while they camped out in Jaebum’s room watching some American movie with subtitles, tell him he had accepted the request to help Jaebum with his heats because he’d been lonely too, and figured being in the company of a fellow “disappointment” like Jaebum might help ease that. He’d been right. Once Jaebum had got over the awkwardness of being in the company of someone his age who, 1) knew he was an omega, and 2) had seen his dick, they’d settled into a companionship and genuine friendship that Jaebum treasured more than he could ever convey with his halting words and poor capacity to express himself emotionally. Jinyoung didn’t put up with anyone’s shit - especially not Jaebum’s - and was sarcastic, brash, occasionally crude, and absolutely adamant on not letting his friend devolve into self-loathing. He was full of bright ideas of equality, of gender not meaning a damn thing in terms of one’s worth, and so dragged Jaebum up every time he saw his best friend trying to drag himself down.

     So when Jinyoung had approached him a few months before their graduation - Jinyoung, though younger, had advanced a grade because he was stupid like that - proposing they room together at university, Jaebum hadn’t thought twice. He’s glad he didn’t. Getting out of his parents’ house had done wonders for him, because as much as he loves his parents, and as much as he knows they love him, despite everything, living there and being confronted daily with all the reminders of what he should’ve been, what he wasn’t, had been more damaging and hurtful than he’d care to admit. Getting out of his parents’ house had done wonders for him, too, because it had led him to move in with Jinyoung, and, after a few years, led him to meet his current neighbour, who Jaebum thought to be possibly the loudest kid he’d ever met. Bambam was the poster-boy for accepting and loving oneself. Although the Thai omega got on his nerves more often than not, helping himself to copious amounts of their food and laundry detergent and virtually anything else he needed to the point it often felt like Jaebum had a third roommate, Jaebum had to admit he deeply respected the kid. He did whatever he wanted, without the slightest regard or care for whether it was “omega-like,” loved himself, and flirted with anything that moved. He flaunted himself in ways that completely contravened the socially acceptable “omega” behaviour, with legs more often than not sheathed in black leather and heeled boots, eyes framed in liner and shadow, and torso usually only minimally covered in glittering jewelry and fabrics Jaebum couldn’t identify if he wanted to. He took what being an omega was and simultaneously upended it and embraced it, in a way that left Jaebum both reeling and intensely proud.

     Jaebum....wasn’t quite there yet, not to the point of embracing his omega-ness. There were still days he caught himself swirling into his old bitterness. There were still times it made him angry, furious really, primarily because of the shift he continually saw in how people treated him. Thinking him to be an alpha, others would automatically treat him with deference and respect, yet the moment they got close enough to smell the omega, that deference and respect would shift to lewd glances and crude comments about knots and heats and “wouldn’t you like help with your next one, little omega?” It made Jaebum’s blood boil, made a growl surge in his chest and crawl up his throat, made his jaw jut out in a way that Bambam always mimicked for days after and made his eyes flash green before Jinyoung would drag him away to prevent him from throwing a fist.

     But he’s come to terms with the fact that he’s an omega. He has. He doesn’t mind it, most of the time, until his heat rolls around and he’s suffering for a few days, but aside from that, he’s fine with his omega-ness.

     Correction: he was fine with it.

     Until he met Jackson Wang.


	2. Dozing

     Jackson comes into his life in the same way, Jaebum learns, he does most things….with far more volume and excitement than required, like some odd mash-up of a hurricane and an exuberant puppy.

     To describe Jaebum’s day as being “long” would be a vast understatement.  The 6:00 am wakeup time he’d needed to shower, shave, and read over his paper again, before submitting it during his 8:00 a.m. class, has exhaustion weighing on his bones, like a thick coat that even the two large coffees and sugar-loaded pastry he’s bought so far from the little cafe on campus hasn’t been able to dispel.  That, after a week of managing only four to five hours of sleep so he could get the paper done at all, is apparently the straw that broke Jaebum’s back.  Both figuratively and literally, it would seem, because said back is currently _throbbing,_ like it tends to do sometimes when he spends too long of periods in those horrible chairs in the library study area.

     He just wants to sleep.

     The promise of said sleep, of curling up in a blanket burrito with his cat, Nora, dozing on the pillow by his face, is the only thing that propels one weary foot past the other to his apartment.

     He’s glad he’d listened to Jinyoung when the beta had proposed they rent an apartment in the building just off campus.  He’d been wary, at first, that living so close to campus might seem a little….lame, but Jinyoung had convinced him with his _practical_ and _logical_ and _reasonable_ arguments of the benefits of being close to the library, of being close to classes, of not needing to rely on busing, etc.  Normally Jaebum would complain, even if just to piss off Jinyoung - one of life’s finest pleasures, really - but he won’t complain, not now. Not when he can get out of class and look up and _see_ his apartment building, like a beacon of light to a weary ship, so close yet still so, so, _so_ far. 

     His phone chimes in his pocket as he trudges past the psychology building, so he digs it out, almost dropping it when his fingers decide they’d rather just quit working for the day.

 

**Nyoung-ah**

_Don’t bother picking up a coffee….making some now. Bam’s here._

     The message makes Jaebum stop in his tracks, makes him whine a little and if he stomps his foot just a bit, who could blame him?  He’d wanted to _sleep_ , and an apartment with Bambam in it is _not_ one conducive to sleep.  His eyes flicker to the painted steel bench just off the sidewalk, and he’s…..tempted.  It’s about halfway through the term, so midterms are upon the student body and he figures most passerby wouldn’t even bat an eye seeing a figure curled up asleep on a campus bench.  Sure, it’s blanket-less, and Nora-less, but it’s also Bambam-less, so he’d have more a chance sleeping here than….no.  He can’t do that.  Well, he _could_ , but he can’t.  He’d get cold, because it’s to the point in the term where it’s chilly outside without a decent jacket and/or sweater, so within half an hour he’d be freezing on the bench, then returning home anyway only to have Jinyoung nag at him for being _careless_ and _reckless_ and _not being concerned enough about his health._  

     So with a longing glance to the bench, and fleeting thoughts to what might have been, he continues. 

     It takes perhaps the longest five minutes of his life before he’s finally at his doorstep.  He’d got a little energy from the smell of his elevator-mate’s coffee, lost it immediately as the warmth of the building settled into his muscles and left his eyelids feeling four times heavier than usual.

     He sends up a silent thanks when he finds his front door unlocked, because if he had to fumble for his keys right now he’d probably just give up and nap on the doorstep.

     Bambam is, as promised, there, perched on the couch like he often is.  He's sitting with his back against the armrest and stupidly long legs crossed in front of him with Nora cocooned in the folds, content as Bambam runs his equally-stupidly long fingers between and behind her ears.   He’s nattering about something, at a speed Jaebum’s tired brain can’t handle so doesn’t even try to, but the sound of the door opening catches his attention and his eyes snap over to Jaebum and the smile spreads across his face with an excited, “Hey, hyung!”  Even though Jaebum kind of hates him at the moment, there’s also a fondness that settles in his chest at the sight of the grinning omega.

     But he’d never admit that though, so he responds with an acknowledging grunt and watches Jinyoung come from the kitchen.  Like the angel he is when he decides to not be a little shit, Jinyoung meets him with a few strides and a little smirk, thrusting a mug into Jaebum’s hands even as he pulls the messenger bag off his shoulder to deposit on the chair they keep by the door.  “Well, don’t you look dead on your feet,” Jinyoung appraises him with a little hum, and Jaebum doesn’t even need to be fully conscious to feel Jinyoung’s eyes tracking over his frame in that motherly way they often do.

     “I _feel_ dead on my feet,” Jaebum mutters with a pout, letting Jinyoung manhandle him out of his jacket and over to the couch to sit by Bambam.

     “Aw, hyung,” Bambam complains to Jinyoung even as he obligingly shifts his legs to let Jaebum sit, earning a disgruntled squeak from Nora. “How’d you let him out of the house with those bags under his eyes?  You should’ve dropped by to borrow some concealer.”

     Jinyoung just huffs out a laugh, settling into the armchair and crossing an ankle over his knee, looking as graceful and elegant as he always does.  It infuriates Jaebum, who scornfully downs the coffee with enough haste that his brain can only register _coffee, bitter, good,_ before he drops the mug on the end table. “The bags under his eyes were the least of his concerns,” Jinyoung retorts, before redirecting his attention to Jaebum.  “Got your paper in okay?”

     Jaebum heaves a long-suffering sigh, turning to curl into the back of the couch as his hand finds Nora’s fur.  She’s as soft as always, and she must know it’s him, because her purring intensifies.  The corners of his mouth curve.  “Yeah,” he concedes.  “Almost got there late because the stupid guy in front of me at the cafe wanted fifteen add-ons in his coffee, but I made it. Barely.”

     “Nothing wrong with barely,” Bambam defends, nudging Jaebum’s leg with his socked foot in sympathy.  “‘Barely’ applies to most of my assignments.”

     “Especially when it comes to passing, right Bammie?”

     The glare Bam levels at Jinyoung is as fierce as it is playful, and he grabs the throw pillow from the floor to launch at Jinyoung, who only catches it with a cackle.  All the motion and noise just makes Jaebum feel a little sick, so he settles for burying half his face into the couch and closing his eyes.

     “Anyway, I was just in the middle of harassing Bammie about the omega he’s got a crush on when you stumbled in looking like death warmed over.”

     Jaebum cracks open an eye at that, moves it from Jinyoung’s shit-eating grin to the flush that rises on Bambam’s cheeks as he whines at Jinyoung, and _that_ certainly gets Jaebum’s interest.  There are few things in the world that make Bambam blush, and Jaebum’s dedicated himself to compiling a list of them to use against Bambam when he decides it’ll be fun to sneak into their apartment at 3 in the morning to eat everything in their fridge again, or replace their laundry detergent with dish soap.  Again.  They still don’t talk about that incident.  “Oh?” he settles on, because nothing gets Bambam more irritated - and therefore more talkative - than feigned disinterest.

     “Oh, he’s _so_ cute, Jaebum-hyung,” Bambam sighs, eyes sparkling as he clasps his hands in front of him dramatically.  “He just dyed his hair blond last week, and when I saw it I was this close” - this close, apparently, being the half an inch between Bambam’s long fingers - “to just, like, jumping him.  Right in the middle of class.  Just laying him over the desk and having my sweet, sweet way with him.  And I sat next to him this morning in lecture, and he laughed at my joke and it sounded like _angels_ and even though he’s technically my hyung I just wanna wrap him up and protect him from the cruel, cruel world.”

     Jaebum just hums, because as annoying as Bambam is he loves the kid and wants to see him happy, and the last time he saw him this happy and excited about a person was….wait.  This morning. When he was pushing that lanky alpha out his front door with a smack on the ass and an unabashedly wide smirk.  Jaebum had enjoyed tormenting the kid in the elevator as he’d stared with one brow raised at the dissheveled mop of dark hair and misbuttoned shirt, and the flush that had crept up the alpha’s neck to colour his ears had been nothing short of glorious.  It’s becoming a ritual for Jaebum at this point, who routinely shares the elevator with the kid after catching him in a make-out session with Bambam in the hallway that’s far too heated for being so early in the morning.  “What about that tall kid?  The dance major?  Ah…..Yugum?”

     That has Bambam rolling his eyes with a huff.  “Hyung, don’t you pay any attention to me?  First, it’s _Yugyeom_ , and second, we’ve agreed to explore the possibility of opening our relationship to a third party.  And since Jinyoung-hyung isn’t interested - “

     “Ew.”

     “- and since _you_ terrify Yugyeom,” Bambam just continues past Jinyoung’s interruption, “I’m thinking he’s a solid third candidate.”

     “Right,” Jinyoung snorts. “If he’s as sweet as you say he his, you two menaces would tear him apart. 

     “Excuse me,” Bambam offers with an affronted gasp. “We would _treasure_ him.  Just like we would treasure _you_ if you ever got the stick out of your very fine ass and let us - “

     “Not in this lifetime, kid.  This peach is off limits.”

     “Oh, are you saying there’s a possibility in the next?  Jinyoung-hyung, you _flirt_ , wait until I tell Gyeomie- "

     Bambam, in the middle of his exuberant speech, shifts and disrupts Nora, who creaks one eye open to glare at him dispassionately before she’s standing to move over to Jaebum’s lap.  He accepts her with a smile, a soft one he reserves for his girl, as he shushes her little meow and runs his fingers through her fur, behind her ears where she likes and dipping under her chin.  She settles quickly, curling into his bent knee, and kneading his calf with her little paws, and it’s so cute Jaebum’s heart melts a little.  He watches her blinks grow slower, slower, until finally her bright eyes close, and she reverts into a happy little bundle of purrs on his lap.

     Sometimes he feels like an idiot, because he just....loves her so much.  He doesn’t know if it’s because she gives his nurturing omega side an outlet - or, at least an outlet that doesn’t whine “But Dad...” like Bambam does when Jaebum insists he text him when he’s home from one of his wild nights partying - or whether it’s because Nora’s been one of the only constants when his life felt like it was falling apart.  He’d gotten her a few years before he presented, after years of begging his parents, and in those months before he’d gotten close with Jinyoung it had too often felt like Nora had been the only one to accept him, the only one on his side. When his parents wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t hug him or indulge his newly surging need for pure physical contact, Nora would curl up on his stomach or butt her head against his hand and just let Jaebum _feel_.  She still loved him, she still needed him, even though he was a disappointing omega and a shame to the family.  There had been too many days when the need to care for her, to feed her and ensure she had fresh water and a clean litter box, had been the only thing that had dragged him out of bed.  His world had been so _dark_ in those months, so desolate and black, and Nora had been the pinprick of light and hope and _good._

     He’s considered, before, what might have been if his parents hadn’t conceded to his begging, if he hadn’t had Nora then.

     “-hyung.”

     He doesn’t want to think about it.

     “Jaebum-hyung!”

     He startles then, dragged from his internal monologue by Bambam’s hand slapping his knee and his eyes looking at him with a hint of concern hovering at the edges of his gaze.  Jaebum drops his hand to Bambam’s, squeezes it in reassurance, offers an apologetic little smile to accompany it.  “Sorry, I...didn’t catch that.”

     “I don’t think you could’ve caught _anything_ in your little daydreaming,” Jinyoung teases, but his smile is frayed at the edges like it gets when he’s concerned but trying not to show it.  “Maybe you should turn in early, hmm?”

     “But he can’t!” Bambam exclaims, eyes wide as he glares at Jinyoung for the suggestion, before turning to Jaebum and coaching his expression into something more doleful and pleading.  “You can’t, hyung.  You need to meet Jackson-hyung.”

     Jaebum waits a minute, for the name to trigger some bell in his memory, because Bambam’s looking at him like he should clearly know who Jackson is.  Nothing.  “Jackson-hyung?”

     Bambam flops backwards against the armrest with a groan, like he’s suffering having to be in the company of people so _slow_ , and Jaebum has to bite his tongue to hold back the demand the kid _watch his attitude._ “He’s not Jackson-hyung to you, you idiot,” and Jaebum _does_ cuff him on the head for that, although Bambam just swats it away.  “The guy I was literally _just_ talking about.”  Oh.  Right.  Omega.  Bambam’s crush from class.  Laugh like an angel.  Treasure, protect from the world.  Right.  “He’s supposed to come over to my place, like, any minute, hyung, and I wanted you guys to meet him!”

     Wow.  Is that how fast kids move these days?  Inviting crushes over to hangout.  Although, to be fair, Jaebum’s doesn’t recall ever having a crush to know for sure.  “I....sure,” because what could it hurt?  “Sure, we’ll meet him.”

     Bambam claps his hands at that, prompting an image of a seal to flash through Jaebum’s mind before the Thai kid is scrambling over to throw his arms around Jaebum’s neck, shrieking about how excited he is and convincing Nora the time for escape is _now_.  Jaebum can’t help but laugh a little, even as Nora’s claws dig into his leg as she jumps off.  His hands come up to rest on Bambam’s back, offering awkward little pats, and the sweet scent so characteristic to omegas - for Bambam, like an orange blossom - soothes him.  To be honest, he finds it sweet how eager Bambam is for them to meet his crush/new flame/prospective partner.

     There’s a knock then, seemingly from in the hall, that has him leaping up and rushing to the door before Jaebum can manage anything more than a fond yet exasperated shared smile with Jinyoung.  He’s throwing the door open, shouting “Hyung, come meet my hyungs!” at what seems like maximum volume, and there’s an answering laugh that sends electricity just _jittering_ up Jaebum’s spine.

     “Jackson-hyung,” Bambam says, and Jaebum can tell from his voice he’s nearly vibrating with excitement.  “I’d like you to meet Jaebum-hyung and Jinyoung-hyung!”

     It isn’t until Jaebum stands to bow to their guest that he sees this “Jackson” that Bambam’s apparently so enamoured with, and he’s immediately left wishing he had remained seated because his knees feel like they could entirely dissolve beneath him.

     Jackson, as it turns out, is all broad shoulders and _thighs_ and bleached hair so blond it looks almost silver beneath the lights, as it’s styled up and away from the shaved sides and curls, just in a few tendrils, over his forehead.  He’s sturdily built, strong in a way that has the omega in Jaebum _preening_ , but looks so _soft_ in his torn, light wash jeans and oversized pastel pink sweater with the collar of a white dress shirt peaking from beneath.  “Hi!” Jackson greets with a bow, and it’s _deep_ in a way that has Jaebum’s chest feeling like it’s collapsing.  “I’m Jackson Wang.”

     Well.

     Well, _shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a comment, as always...I'd love to hear your thoughts. <3


	3. Drifting

     Jaebum watches Jackson in what feels like a daze.  There’s a noise in his ears that’s far, far too loud, his mouth feels like he hasn’t drank anything in days, and his heart is beating so fast he finds himself rubbing a palm over it because it _hurts_ and that definitely cannot be healthy.

     He watches as Jinyoung breezes past him to shake Jackson’s hand, asking his birth year and laughing at some quip Jackson makes about them both being born in the year of the dog before the man pulls him into a hug.  Jaebum should move to greet him too, but his feet feel like they’re rooted to the ground.

     Jackson evidently doesn’t mind, because he approaches Jaebum with a smile that has him thinking of sunshine and rainbows and kittens and everything beautiful in the world, and Jaebum’s kicking himself internally because he knows he’s acting like an absolute fucking _idiot_ but he can’t seem to do anything about it.  But Jackson’s greeting him as his hyung and clasping his hand in a handshake that just fills Jaebum’s head with a mantra of _oh god, rough fingers, firm handshake,_ _oh my god, abort, ABORT._

     So Jaebum withdraws his hand, straightens his back - which definitely protests at _that_ \- and finally manages to find his _damn balls_ in time to clear his parched throat and grunt out a gruff, “Nice to meet you.”

     Omega, he tries to remind himself.  Bambam’s omega.  But then Jackson’s throwing his hands up, squealing something in English that sounds - to Jaebum’s tremendously non-fluent ears, at least - like “Chic and Sexy.”  Whatever it is, and whatever it means, it has Bambam cackling, and Jaebum barely has time to brace himself before his arms are suddenly filled with those _broad shoulders._

     Jaebum’s expression is clearly wondrous, if Jinyoung and Bambam’s chorus of laughter is any indication, but he honestly can’t find it in himself to care much.  All he can feel is _firmness_ and _muscles_ under the hands that tenuously rise to pat Jackson’s back, and all he can smell is a sweetness, curiously indistinguishable and fainter than most omegas’, but which still has his own omega simpering in comfort.  Idly he finds himself wishing that scent blockers weren’t a university-mandated necessity for members of the student body.  He’d just like to push his nose into Jackson’s neck and -

     The moment’s lost when Jinyoung closes the door and offers Jackson a seat, and Jaebum definitely does _not_ have to suppress a whine when Jackson draws back.  A little compensation comes in the wink he gets from Jackson, and the warmth that emanates from the hot palm that grips Jaebum’s arm in a squeeze before he’s grabbing Jaebum’s wrist to drag him to the couch.  Jackson sits, one knee bent up on the seat between them, arm spread across the back, facing Jaebum with an attention that has heat spreading up his neck.  It isn’t lost on Jaebum how....intimate and _intense_ it seems.

     He wishes it was.

     “So Bambam tells me you’re a music major?”

     It’s clear the question is directed at Jaebum, because Jackson’s eyes are on him, all _dark_ and deep, when he asks. It still manages to startle him. “Uh yeah,” he manages lamely, running a hand over the nape of his neck.

     “Cool!” Jackson says, beaming.  “A particular instrument, or....?

     “No, I...I more focus on the production aspect.  Of things.  Music production.”

     Something like awe sparkles in Jackson’s eyes, and it has the heat up Jaebum’s neck intensifying to the point it feels like he’s just _burning._ “Dude, that is so cool.  You’re in your...last year?”  Jackson’s grin seems to broaden, if that’s even possible, with Jaebum’s nod.  “So do you have any plans for after you graduate then?”

    “Ah,” Jaebum heaves out, and he twists with the ring on his finger.  “Not really?  Not yet anyway.  Just...trying to focus on finishing up strong and then I’ll...take it from there?”

     “Whatever you do,” Jackson says, leaning over, “I bet you’ll be fantastic at it.”  He’s laying a hand across Jaebum’s thigh then, and squeezing, and it takes Jaebum off guard to the point he jumps.  He tries to disguise it with a half-hearted cough, but clearly fails, because Jackson’s withdrawing his hand as the corners of his mouth tip down in a frown and a crease emerges between his eyebrows.  Jaebum has to fight to keep his panicking internal.

     “Sorry, I - “

     “I’m sorry, I - “

     They both stop, stare at each other as if prompting the other to go.  Jackson seems even more intent on being polite than Jaebum, though, because Jaebum finally relents and manages a meek “Sorry, I’m just....tired.  And have had one too many coffees today.  Makes me jumpy.”

     “No, no,” Jackson’s hushing him, waving his hands erratically, eyes wide and the picture of guilt.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.  I should’ve asked you first.  I know I can be kind of...off-putting, with how into skinship I am.”

     “It’s not off-putting,” Jaebum says quickly, because it’s _not._ It’s just that Jaebum isn’t used to it, because even though he’s an omega, and it’s in his genes to relish in the comforts of physical touch, he’s still reserved and seems cold and it takes a while to let people in, and for people to decide he’s worth the bother.  “And you didn’t make me uncomfortable.  I’m just - “

     “A recluse,” Jinyoung offers from the armchair, the epitome of helpful as he sits with a frankly _stupid_  smirk.  Jaebum had kind of forgotten he was here.  It’d be better, Jaebum decides, if he wasn’t.  “A hermit, if you will.”

     Jackson laughs at that, and even though Jaebum isn’t sure he’d describe it akin to angels like Bambam had, it does make the corners of his own lips curl even as he sputters out his protests.  He can’t seem to get anything coherent out, though, so he settles on leveling at his _former_ best friend the frostiest, iciest glare he can muster.

     Jaebum’s confused when Jackson squeals again - and yep, “Chic and sexy” is _definitely_ what he says.

     “What is it you study, Jackson-ssi?”

     “Oh, just Jackson’s fine,” he says, turning to Jinyoung, and it both makes Jaebum feel relieved and disappointed.  “Formalities aren’t really a thing where I’m from, so Jackson’s totally fine.”

     “He’s a fencer!” Bambam interjects excitedly.

     Right.  Bambam. 

     Jaebum stifles his sigh.

     “Well, I fence competitively.  For the university team,” Jackson amends, and then he’s meeting Jaebum’s eyes again and there’s a passion there, burning at the edges, that steals Jaebum’s breath.  Just a little.  Barely.  Actually, that’s probably just the caffeine.  “But I’m studying kinesiology.  I figure I can go into sports therapy or rehabilitation therapy if the fencing doesn’t pan out.”

     “That’s smart,” Jaebum murmurs, “to have a backup plan,” and the comment earns him another Jackson Wang smile.

    “Oh but he’s so _good_ , hyungs!” Bambam chirps excitedly, and then he’s smacking Jinyoung across the knee from where he’s perched at his feet beside the armchair.  “You guys should come and watch him sometime!”

     “Bambam,” Jinyoung tutts, swatting away his hand.  “What did we say about inviting people to other peoples’ events?  Did you learn nothing after you inadvertently invited Yugyeom’s _ex_ to his performance last month?”

     Bambam’s rolling his eyes, a huff leaving his lips and a snarky retort probably on his tongue - frankly a safe bet for Bambam at any given time - but Jackson smoothly defuses it with a quick, “But I’d love that!”  It’s hard not to believe him, when his gaze is so wide and open and sincere.  “I’d love it if you came and watched.  Sometime,” he adds after a moment, and it’s odd because when he meets Jaebum eyes from beneath his lashes he almost looks....flustered?  “If you have the time, that is.  No pressure.”

     Jaebum just blinks at him.  “Okay,” he says, without thinking, because he doesn’t _need_ to think about it.  He isn’t entirely sure what fencing entails, but...that doesn’t matter, not with how Jackson’s face lights up like someone just plugged him into a socket.  “Do you...have a competition or something coming up?”

     “In a few weeks, yeah.  It’s just a local one, against some other universities in the area, but....yeah.”

     “Okay.  Sounds fun.”

     “Yeah, I mean, I’d invite you to a practice or something,” Jackson continues, and the speed at which he does so suggests he’s _rambling_ and damn it, Jaebum finds it so incredibly endearing.  “Because I have those every morning at 10, but they can get kind of dull so.....” Jackson seems to catch himself then, because his grin turns somewhat bashful.  “Yeah.  I’ll let you know.  Well, I’ll let Bambam know, and then he can let you know.”

     “Or Jaebum could give you his number,” Jinyoung supplies, and Jaebum does _not_ like the look in his eyes as he steeples his fingers beneath his chin in a way that’s always struck Jaebum as a bit too “evil genius” for comfort.  “So you could let him know directly.  We all know Bammie can be somewhat unreliable when it comes to....well, everything.  And _we_ \- “ and Jaebum’s jaw twitches a bit when Jinyoung looks at him in a way that implies who _exactly_ he’s talking about - “would hate to miss it. 

     “That would work too,” Jackson says, a bit quieter than before.  “But only if you want.  And are alright with me potentially sending you funny memes.  Occasionally.”

     “I...sure.  I guess I can live with that.”  There’s a little warning bell, screeching and flashing red, in his brain even as he schools his voice into something he hopes approaches nonchalant.  Because it all sounds dangerous when Jackson is _Bambam’s omega_ and  _Bambam’s omega_ has Jaebum feeling like there's a dozen butterflies just swarming and tumbling in his stomach. But then another part is reminding him - in a voice that sounds eerily like Jinyoung’s, and Jaebum does _not_ want to try to unpack that horror anytime soon - that it would not hurt to expand his circle of friendships a bit, and that getting Jackson’s number would be beneficial if he ever needed to contact Bambam in the event that the idiot forgot his phone.  Again.  Or dropped it in the toilet.  Again.  Or in the event of an emergency.  Which, too, is likely to be an “again” when Bambam is involved.  Jaebum's just being a good friend.  Right?

     That has something swirling in his stomach uneasily but he ignores it in favour of pushing himself off the couch, trying not to hiss when the motion makes the pain in his back become _very much_ known.  “Just let me get my phone.”

     The pain worsens from an ache to a dull roar as he moves over to his jacket, flares again as he bends to fish his phone from his pocket.  He’s resorted to gritting his teeth by the time he finally manages his way back to Jackson, and settles on thrusting his phone towards the man without much decorum.

     Jackson looks at him appraisingly, eyes tracking down his arm to his hand, hidden behind his back where it’s pressing into the muscles there to convince them to _behave_ , but he accepts the phone anyway with a smile, thumbs moving rapidly over the keyboard.  “Here, just let me text myself,” and there’s a ding in his pocket before he’s handing Jaebum his phone with eyes narrowed into crescents by the force of his smile.  Jaebum reaches for it, but holy _fuck_ -

     “Hyung?”

     Bambam’s voice sounds tiny, small and unsure in a way he only gets on those rare occasions when he’s scared and actually seems like the kid he is.  Jaebum knows it’s because the groan that pulls itself from his chest and the way his hand flies to his back has Bambam recalling all the gory details he’d begged for about the herniated spinal disc with which Jaebum had been afflicted as a teen after all those b-boy tricks he’d resorted to for entertainment.  Jaebum knows that’s flashing through his mind, chased by Jaebum’s slightly-tipsy confession one night about his concerns that the injury would flare up again and he’d lose more months to grueling rehab.  So while he can’t stop the groan that slips from between his teeth, he can take a breath to settle himself before offering what he hopes is a marginally reassuring smile to Bambam, who answers it with a wobbly one of his own.

     “Hey.”  It takes a minute for Jaebum to realize Jackson is talking to him, because he’s too preoccupied engaging in one of those telepathic conversations he often resorts to with Jinyoung.  _Your back?  Yep.  You okay?  Eh._ Still, he chances a glance at Jackson, seeing the man looking at him with a seriousness that nearly gives Jaebum whiplash. “You okay?”

     Jaebum realizes, then, that Jackson’s still holding his phone out to him, so he grabs it, fumbles it into his pocket with a small thanks.  “Yeah,” he answers quietly.  “It’s nothing big.  Just an old b-boying injury.  And then the library chairs.  You know how it is.”

     “Sure,” Jackson says, eyes still intent on him on a way that makes Jaebum a little uncomfortable.  They’re beautiful eyes, he can’t help but think, especially against the paleness of his hair, until he decidedly pushes the thought away.  “Want help with it?”

     “Want….what?”

     “Want help with it.  I’ve been told I give a mean massage.  You want one?”

     Jaebum’s just….confused, at this point.  He looks over to Jinyoung, hoping for some direction, but the beta’s just looking at him with that same curious expression Jaebum can’t quite decipher.  He doesn’t know Jackson, not really, and while a hand on the thigh is one thing, a  _back massage_ is certainly another.  His apprehension must appear somewhere in his face, because he sees Jackson raising his hands and widening his eyes innocently.  Like a puppy.  An innocent puppy.  It’s kinda cute.  “Nothing funny, I promise.  Just a massage.  I swear I know what I’m doing.  I spent last summer working at a massage therapy studio to go towards my degree, and I give massages to the guys on the team, like, all the time.  Apparently I am the proud owner of some pretty decent hands.  Cross my heart,” he adds with a disarming grin as he draws a little cross over his chest, and Jaebum swears he feels his heart stutter a little bit.

     Yeah, he definitely needs to cut back on the caffeine.  His heart’s being....unpredictable.

     “If not, it’s cool.  You’re just clearly uncomfortable and I wanted to help.”

     Jaebum should say no, _would_ say no, because he cherishes his personal space and personal bubble, but Jackson’s eyes are wide and lips are pouting and even the thought of rejecting him has guilt preemptively bubbling in his chest.  He looks innocent enough, Jaebum figures, and has certainly been nice enough and Jinyoung’s here to save him if he needs it.  Which he _shouldn’t,_ because they’re both omegas and Jaebum can hold his own, damn it.  Even when he’s so exhausted he feels like he’s drunk and even when his opponent has thighs like _that_.  Besides, Bambam likes him, which must mean something, right?  Maybe?  Actually, scratch that.  Jaebum doesn’t want to think what that means, doesn’t want to think at all really, so he’s shrugging in lieu of thinking and responding with a meek “Ah…sure?  I guess?”

     He definitely does not see the raised brow  _that_ earns him from Jinyoung.  He’s equally immune to the giggle it elicits from Bambam.

     The smile that breaks over Jackson’s face helps him ignore it, because it’s so bright and cheerful and _happy_ it makes Jaebum a little dizzy.  Yeah, definitely time to cut back on the caffeine.  “Great!” the other man squeals, _squeals_ , and then he’s standing up and delicately placing one of the throw pillows on the floor before ushering Jaebum to lie down.

     Said floor turns out to be uncomfortable in a way he doesn’t remember it usually being, because his ribs dig into it and the weird posture, head pillowed on his folded arms and elevated a bit with the pillow, has him grunting a bit at the pain that flares up his spine.  He hears Jackson give a little tut at that, before he’s lowering himself over Jaebum’s back and Jaebum _clearly_ did not think this through enough, because Jackson’s thighs are solid and warm on either side of his hips, and he’s hovering over Jaebum’s ass in a way that has heat spreading up his neck and is apparently confusing his circulatory system, which seems intent on redirecting the blood flow to a place  _elsewhere._

     _Bambam’s omega_ , he reminds himself.

     It doesn’t work.  Jaebum doesn’t even pretend to be surprised at this point.

     He jolts a little when Jackson’s hands smooth over his back, feels more than hears the little laugh Jackson huffs out at that as he pats one hand on his shoulder soothingly before returning it to his lower back.  His palms are warm, warm in a way that seeps through Jaebum’s sweater, and the warmth spreads when Jackson starts humming this little tune Jaebum doesn’t recognize.  His fingers start moving, working nimbly into all the knots, all the hardness, that’s been accumulating over the past week, and somehow Jaebum feels like he’s melting.  He can almost _feel_ the tension being broken apart, coming undone under Jackson’s hands, and he’s certain that “pretty decent” is not a strong enough descriptor for said hands.  Magical, maybe?  Spiritual?  As he ponders it, Jackson’s fingers find another knot, prodding it and squeezing it into submission in a way that has Jaebum’s fingers gripping tighter around the pillow, his toes curling, and all doubts about the wisdom of his current position just disintegrating.

     A distant part of his brain, one that generally lies dormant beneath the stress of assignments and midterms until his heat or one of Bambam’s suggestions he gets laid drags it out, starts wondering about what other magical things those hands could do.  But before he can meander too far down _that_ particular path, Jackson’s hitting another knot and Jaebum just feels like he’s unraveling.  He’s so _tired_ , he realizes suddenly, and it’s incredible because as awake as he’d felt meeting Jackson, his eyes feel so heavy and weighted down and his brain is just getting....quieter.  He doesn’t even hear the little murmurs of Jinyoung and Bambam talking, unable to find it in himself to focus on anything but the little lullaby rumbling through Jackson’s chest and the way his fingers keep moving over and pressing into his back.  It’s soothing, soothing and relaxing in a way Jaebum can’t remember feeling, at least not recently.

     So soothing and relaxing he lets go, drifts away under Jackson’s lullaby and skilled fingers to dream of a man of platinum blond hair and eyes that sparkle like the galaxy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah let me just start with a massive THANK YOU to everyone who has taken the time to read, to comment, and/or to leave kudos. When you're still new to fanfic writing like I am, and have been away from creative writing for a while like I have, it truly means the world. 
> 
> Secondly....please disregard any spelling/grammar issues here. I'm my only proofreader, and it's late and I'm tired and there are 15,000 other things I should be working on but none of them got me as excited as this.
> 
> Much love. ❤️


	4. Thanking

    Jaebum’s going to strangle Jinyoung. Or throw something at him.  Or both.

    He hasn’t decided yet.

    But it’s going to be at least _one_ of them, because Jinyoung keeps watching him with this stupid smirk on his face, looking like the cat who ate the canary.  It’s frustrating and infuriating, because Jaebum’s trying to be _productive_ , at the kitchen table with his books and notes all laid out just like he needs them to be to _study._ But he can’t focus when all he can feel is Jinyoung’s eyes boring into him so intensely it makes his skin itch and the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

    “Can I help you?” he finally snaps, not bothering to look up from his textbook and the line he’s been reading for the past _ten minutes._

    There’s a pause, and Jaebum knows Jinyoung well enough to know it’s because his smirk is broadening and his eyes are crinkling and Jaebum just _hates him._ “Nope,” Jinyoung replies finally.

    “Really.  Because you won’t stop _staring_ at me and it frankly has me ready to defenestrate you.”

    Jinyoung’s peals of laughter ring brightly in the kitchen, still a bit dim as the sun awakens from its own slumber.  “Wouldn’t want to do that, hyung,” he advises with a mock solemnity, pausing to take a sip of coffee from his mug - black, like his _soul_.  “Might injure your back and need another _massage._ ”

      That has Jaebum slamming his pencil with a bit more force than necessary against the table.  He glares at Jinyoung, then, sees the exact smirk he’s been fearing, even though its partially hidden behind the stupid black mug he uses all the _damn_ time, with _Actor Park_ written across it in blaring gold lettering.  It had been a flashy and frankly gaudy gift from the flashy and equally gaudy Bambam last Christmas, and Jaebum wants to throw it.  “If that’s what this is about, you can just drop it,” Jaebum says, sniffing a bit and dropping his gaze to his textbook in what he hopes - prays, really - looks like haughty indifference.  “I’ll have you know that it did wonders for me.”

    Jinyoung snorts.  “Wonders, hmm?  I could hear the wonders it did for you as I was heading to the shower this morning.”

    Jaebum freezes.

    No.  _No_.

     _Fuck._

    He’d sworn - made _sure_ \- that Jinyoung was in the shower when -

     “I got to the shower and turns out I had forgotten my towel.  And so I leave the water running and pass by your room and what, oh what, do I hear?  _Jackson_ ,” he says breathily, on the edge of a quivering gasp that Jaebum absolutely _never_ needed to hear coming from Jinyoung’s mouth, and it has Jaebum burying his head in his arms on the table and wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him.  Please?  “You know, you should really work on your volume.  I understand that sometimes being loud is hot, but there’s just some occasions that demand quiet and if _that_ was you trying to be quiet - “

    “Shut up,” Jaebum groans into his arms. “Just please shut up.”

     A hand drops on Jaebum’s head, ruffling the hair and Jaebum chases it away with snapping teeth and a growl.  Jinyoung just laughs.  Jaebum just growls.  Which makes Jinyoung laugh some more. 

    God, he’s _insufferable._

“That’s it, I’m moving out.”

    “Oh come on,” Jinyoung huffs out, grin still breaking across his face and eyes sporting whiskers at the creases as he grabs Jaebum’s arm when he stands to push him back down.  “I’m just messing with you.”

    Jaebum yanks his arm from Jinyoung’s grasp, folds them over his chest.  He definitely does _not_ pout.  “I hate you.”

     That has Jinyoung folding his hands beneath his chin and fluttering his eyelashes.  That _damn_ \- “You _love_ me.  Don’t worry, you don’t need to apologize.  We’ve all been there.”

     There, presumably, being how Jaebum had woken up, in his own bed with only his underwear on, feeling more rested than he had in weeks but with an incredibly _painful_ hard-on and his sheets damp with slick like a fucking _teenager_.  Which he had definitely _not_ taken care of, as phantom thighs had squeezed around his hips and his brain had tortured him with unwanted glimpses of muscles and broad shoulders and rough hands.

     He hadn’t even realized they’d belonged to Jackson until the name had stuttered from his lips as he came over his hand.  The realization had left him shaking, in a way definitely not attributable to his morning jerk off.

    It still makes Jaebum queasy a bit, thinking about it.  He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so....embarrassed and ashamed.

     To settle his stomach, and for a bit of divine retribution, he snatches the half of the egg toast sandwich remaining on Jinyoung’s plate, takes a bite out of it to the welcome chorus of his sputtered protests.  It’s good, Jaebum thinks, even better because it’s Jinyoung’s and Jaebum would do almost anything right now to make Jinyoung suffer.

    “I mean, I’m not saying I don’t get it,” Jinyoung continues, voice a little whiny as he mourns the loss of his sandwich before grabbing a slice of watermelon and biting in.  “He’s an attractive man.”  _Understatement_ , Jaebum thinks, before he frowns at the thought and takes another bite.  “I can see why both you and Bambam seem to like him so much.”

    “I don’t like him,” Jaebum grumbles. “I don’t even know him.”

    “Ah, but you’re well acquainted with his thighs by now, right?  Delicious, aren’t they?  Kinda make you just want to sink your teeth in and  - “

     Jinyoung sputters at the pencil that hits his face before dropping on his lap.  “Well,” he drawls impassively.  “Someone’s touchy.”

    “Don’t you have a class to get to? Or at least a meeting down in Hell with all the other demons that destroy peoples’ lives?” 

    Jinyoung tuts at him, laughs when Jaebum only snaps his textbook shut and makes like he’s about to launch it at him. “Now now,” he’s soothing him as he rises to his feet, and it’s so patronizing Jaebum settles for extending a foot to jab in his stomach and sending him stumbling back a bit.  “By the way, I don’t know if you noticed this morning given how - ahem - _busy_ you were, but he left something for you.  I put it on your bookshelf after he carried you to bed.”

    “He...what?”

     “Carried you to bed,” Jinyoung repeats nonchalantly, moving to deposit his dirty dishes in the sink.  “I proposed just leaving you snoozing on the floor, but he insisted that it would be bad for your back.  I was kind of hoping for a good old-fashioned fireman’s carry, but he went with bridal style.  It was super cute.  10/10 would recommend a repeat, if the opportunity ever arises again.” 

     Jaebum can’t even process that, because when he’d woken up in his own bed he’d been....  “He...he didn’t...”

    “Strip you down?” Jinyoung clarifies, and he’s approaching Jaebum again to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “Nah, that honour was mine.  I figured you’d want to wait until you were awake to get to first base with him.  Anyway.  I gotta run.  You’ll have the house to yourself until dinner.  Lots of time to beat out another few while thinking about - “

    Jinyoung doesn’t get to finish that sentence.  He’s too busy coughing around the remaining sandwich Jaebum’s shoved in his mouth.

 

 

 

 

 

    The “something” Jackson left for him turns out to be a little, white, nondescript tube of...something.  He isn’t sure what it is, because there’s no labeling on the tube, but then he sees a little handwritten note beneath it on the dresser.

 

_Jaebum-hyung!  It was so nice to meet you.  Bambam’s talked so much about you, about how we should meet, and it was so nice to finally put a face to the name!_

_I hope the massage helped.  It sure seemed to.  :)_

_I thought you might find this useful...I know it looks a little sketchy, but it’s organic and natural from a place back home and I swear it works super well!  I use it all the time when I have an ache after fencing.  Just apply a pea-sized amount whenever it hurts, no more than twice a day though, okay?_

_Let me know how it works!_

_Jackson-ah_

_P. S. You’re super cute when you snore. Massive uwu-s._

    Jaebum...feels like he goes through the full gauntlet of emotions at that message.  There’s a soft little smile on his face as he reads the first few lines, which turns into a wide grin, which morphs into an embarrassed little sound as he reads the last line.  But he’s so....touched.  It’s weird.  His chest feels warm, and his stomach’s doing little somersaults, and he’s smiling so much his face hurts.

    So he sets the note back on the bookshelf, before deciding against it and pinning it to his corkboard on the wall above.

    He just doesn’t want to lose it.

    He’ll text Jackson.  To thank him.  For the massage, for carrying him to bed, for the tube, and for...yeah.

    He’ll text him.

 

 

        

 

 

 

    He doesn’t text him.

    Instead he finds himself standing in front of the campus gym, a bit flabbergasted because he’d been intending on just going for his morning walk - it’s 11:30, and thus hardly morning anymore but _sue him_ because he’s had a stressful few hours - when his legs had just decided to...stop.  In front of the gym.  Where Jackson was probably training.  Because Jackson had fencing classes that started at 10 and Jaebum knows, from that one term he took boxing lessons, that training sessions like that usually take an hour and a half and _what is he doing?_  

    He shouldn’t be here.  Why is he _doing_ this?  He must be a masochist.

     Jaebum’s an omega, a disappointing _omega_ , who’s expected to mate with an alpha of strong alpha heritage so he become slightly less of a disappointment.  It’s his duty now, his obligation, his responsibility.  His promise to do so - and the prospect of meeting his future mate among the student body - is the only reason his parents had allowed him to even come to university, to _study_ , because what need does an omega have for an education when their responsibility is to bear and rear pups?  To ensure the bloodline continues?

     He shouldn’t be _doing_ this.  He shouldn’t be doing this, not when Jackson is also an omega and thus definitely _not_ the type of person his parents would welcome into the family with open arms.  He shouldn’t be doing this, not when Jackson is also being courted - maybe? he isn’t sure on how much Bambam has pursued him, but he imagines, knowing Bambam, that the kid has made his intentions quite clear - by one of Jaebum’s best friends.

    He shouldn’t be doing this.  He’s just going to get attached, light himself ablaze with false promises of things that can _never_ , ever happen and then -

    “Jaebum hyung!”

    The cry startles him, makes him whirl around from where he’d been unconsciously turning to make a hasty and panicked retreat back to his apartment and it’s...Jackson.  Of course it is.  Jackson with his blond hair damp, and duffel bag slung over one shoulder.  He shouldn’t look so _good_ , not with black sweatpants and a black sweatshirt and black sneakers, but he...does.  Of course he does.

     There’s a kid beside him, Jaebum notices belatedly, a bit taller than him and certainly leaner with a shock of messy red hair. He’s dressed in leggings and a tank top that’s cut so low in the arms that it shifts as they approach him to reveal a slender yet clearly toned frame.  It has Jaebum feeling a little...anxious?  Especially when the kid says something and Jackson’s laugh echoes high, bounding between the concrete buildings.

     “It’s good to see you!  You’re looking better!” Jackson says as they finally reach him, reaching out a hand to squeeze his elbow with a wink that has Jaebum thinking that it definitely _was_ a terrible non-idea to come here.

    “I...yeah.  You too.”

    Before Jaebum can relish in how intelligent  _that_ response was, Jackson’s clasping a hand on his friend’s shoulder and glancing between them with a wide grin.  “Mark, this is Jaebum-hyung!”

    “Ah,” the kid - _Mark_ \- says, before reaching out a hand, which Jaebum takes with a bow.  “I’ve heard _all_ about you.”

    The kid’s face stretches into a smile at Jackson’s whine.  It’s a wide one that shows off sharp canine teeth that somehow manage to be charming rather than intimidating, and Jaebum is kind of mad at how _beautiful_ this guy is.  Seriously, what the hell?  “Nice to meet you,” he still manages between teeth that are definitely _not_ gritting together.  “You’re Jackson’s age?”

    “Oh no.  I’m ’93.”

    “Oh.”  Shit.  “Nice to meet you, then, Mark-hyung.”  _Not._ But Mark’s giving him this...weird look, comprised of a wide smile but eyes that are squinting a bit in what looks like curiosity, and his head is cocked to the side as he appraises him, and Jaebum wonders what exactly Mark has heard about him to provoke _that_ response.  His arms fold in front of his chest, and he just keeps _looking_ at Jaebum, like he’s testing him or challenging him, and it has Jaebum straightening his posture just a little.

    “You heading to class, Jaebum-hyung?”

     “Ah no,” Jaebum answers, finally breaking the awkward staring-contest with Mark.  If Jackson’s noticed what just happened - whatever that was, Jaebum’s not sure - he doesn’t show any signs of it, eyes still dancing with mirth.  “I was just...walking by.”  He blinks at the little disbelieving hum that comes from Mark, sees his arms still folded and head still cocked but smile now drawn into a smirk, and Jaebum sends up a silent prayer to _never_ let him and Jinyoung meet.  “I was...going to the café?” he adds.  Very convincingly.

     Mark snorts.  Jaebum frowns.  _Please, never let them meet._

    “Oh!  Grabbing lunch?”

     Mark’s hand is on Jackson’s shoulder when the younger asks it.  Jaebum can’t quite seem to tear his gaze from it.  Are they...?

    “Uhm yeah,” Jaebum replies.

    “We were just about to do the same! You should join us, Jaebum-hyung!”

     “Oh I couldn’t.  I wouldn’t want to interrupt your...” Jaebum watches as Mark’s hand slips down Jackson’s arm them to linger at his elbow, before dropping, just like Jaebum’s own stomach seems to at the realization, “date.”

     They  _both_ laugh at that, a chorus of giggles, and Jaebum feels like an idiot.  “Oh no, hyung!  Mark is my best friend.  And roommate.  The responsible beta needed to keep me in line, I guess,” Jackson assures him.

    “A full-time job,” Mark supplements dolefully.

    “Oh, like you’re any easier to deal with, Mr. Tall-not-so-dark-and-silent.  You’re just mad because I used up all the hot water in the shower last night.”

    “Damn right, I’m mad.  The water was like ice by the time I got in.  And if either of us needed a cold shower last night, it was definitely - “

    Jackson cuts him off with a shriek that sounds just a little desperate and a hand clamped over Mark’s mouth.  “Don’t mind him,” he assures Jaebum smoothly, grinning wide and somewhat manically.  “He’s pissy because he fell on his backflip sequence today.”  When Mark struggles a bit, Jackson adds, “Twice.” 

    Mark seems to nip Jackson’s hand at that, because Jackson’s then cradling it against his chest with an overdramatic expression of betrayal. 

    Jaebum’s just lost. “Ah...backflip sequence?”

    “Mark’s a gymnast!  Pretty good one, at that.”  Jackson shoots a brief grin at Mark then, betrayal seemingly forgotten, and Jaebum notices how Mark’s face softens.  They remind him of himself and Jinyoung...bickering and scrapping one minute, before the care emerges and softens the rough edges.  “Our practices line up, so we always grab lunch after.  You’re welcome to join us!”

    “Actually,” Mark cuts in, “I have a meeting with my prof now.  So it’ll just be you two.”

    “Meeting?” Jackson repeats with a frown. “You didn’t tell me about any meeting.”

    “Yeah, well, it just...came up.” Mark’s levels another one of those long, appraising stares at Jaebum.  This time, it has his face feeling inexplicably hot.  “But you two go on without me.”

    “Well, okay.”  There’s a pout on Jackson’s lips that has Jaebum feeling the sudden urge to wet his own, but it disappears into a sunny smile as he turns again to face Jaebum.  “You want to grab lunch with me, Jaebum-hyung?”

    Jaebum can’t find it in himself to disagree, melting under the warmth of Jackson’s gaze.  So he doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting and and kudos-ing and supporting this. I appreciate it more than I can say. ❤️


	5. Learning

    That's how Jaebum finds himself sitting across from Jackson Wang, in a little booth in the diner off campus.  It’s busy, but not as busy as the café, which had boasted a line-up out the door that both Jaebum and his lunch partner had deemed simply not worth it.  Jaebum doesn’t mind, really, because it’s better here...a bit more casual and probably less loud than the café would have been.  Even though there’s a little juke box in the corner that keeps sputtering out old English tunes that have Jackson’s head bobbing about.

    It’s only once they’ve ordered - Jackson a green tea and omelet, and Jaebum an egg sandwich because the bite he’d stolen of Jinyoung’s that morning had left him wanting more - that Jaebum finally musters the courage to broach the topic.

    “I wanted to...thank you.”

    Jackson just blinks at him, like he isn’t possibly sure _for what_ , and folds his hands over the table in front of him.  “Oh?”

    “For last night.  The massage and...afterwards.  I’m sorry for falling asleep on you.”

    “Well,” Jackson says soberly, but Jaebum sees the humour in his eyes, “I think I was technically on top of you.”  The humour manifests into a laugh at Jaebum’s groan.  “Sorry,” he adds with a grin, although he doesn’t look apologetic _at all_.  “But hey, it’s no problem...on both counts.  I’m just glad I could help a little.  And to be honest, it’s a little flattering...means you were comfortable.  With me.”

    There’s a flush riding high on Jackson’s cheeks at that, and it confuses Jaebum a bit to see him look so sheepish.  “It really did.  Help.  Slept better than I have in weeks, to be honest.”

    “I’m glad,” Jackson says simply, and Jaebum can tell he’s sincere.  “You got the cream too?”

    “Yeah,” Jaebum affirms with a nod. “Thanks for that too.  Nothing I’ve tried seems to work so I’m...looking forward to trying that.” 

    “Oh no problem, it’s great!  I hope it works for you.  I expect updates on whether it does!”

    Jaebum laughs a little at his enthusiasm.  “Sure.”

    Jackson’s looking at him, eyes scanning over his face as he props one chin in his hand.  It makes Jaebum feel a little flustered.  “It’s funny,” Jackson says finally.  “Bambam talks about you so much I feel like I already know you.”

     The reminder of Bambam has Jaebum deflating.  Just a little.  “That’s frightening,” he manages, picking a bit at the napkin on the table. 

    “The fact that Bambam’s talked about you, or that I feel like I know you?”

    “The first.”

     Truthfully, Jaebum wouldn’t mind the second.

    “Ah, it’s all good, I promise!  The kid just about idolizes you,” Jackson mock-whispers, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin that has the corners of Jaebum’s mouth instinctively rising too.  “Always talking about his beloved Jaebum-hyung.  Although sometimes he also imitates what he calls your “angry jaw” - whatever that is - but you didn’t hear that from me.”

    “Of course not,” Jaebum accedes with a smile.  “Half the time I think he was sent to personally torment me.  But he’s a good kid.  More like family at this point, really.”

    “I think that feeling’s mutual.  When he talked about introducing me to you guys he literally phrased it as “I want you to meet my mom and dad.””

    That makes Jaebum groan into a chuckle, even as his heart swells.  Bambam does feel like his kid sometimes....his very rebellious, very wily, very attention-demanding and trouble-seeking kid.  He’s convinced he’ll age prematurely because of him, but can’t find it in himself to mind.  Too much.  Some things are worth it.  “It’s been that way since he moved in across from us.  One minute Jinyoungie’s helping him load this ratty, about fourteenth-hand sofa into the elevator, and before I know it the kid’s got a key to our apartment and eats more of our food than I do.”

    Jackson’s laugh is high and tinkling, and Jaebum kind of loves it.  “Offering Bambam the key to your apartment...that sounds awfully dangerous, hyung." 

    “Oh, we didn’t offer it.  I thought I’d lost my keys.  Turns out he’d “borrowed” them to have a copy made.  In case of emergency, whatever that means.”

    It’s almost eerie, almost unsettling, Jaebum thinks, the way Jackson’s eyes are so attentive, so attuned to and focused in on him.  He’s clearly one of those people who just pays rapt attention to others, who not merely hears but _listens_ and the fact that he’s _listening to Jaebum,_ lips quirking and eyes crinkling with a smile until they both broaden around one of those high-pitched laughs, has something between shyness and contentment and excitement swirling like tumbleweeds in Jaebum’s stomach.  He feels like a _teenager_ , like a teenager on their first date, and it’s ridiculous and ludicrous and Jaebum mentally kicks himself, because _omega_ , _Bambam’s, NOT A DATE, IM JAEBUM, YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT, YOU -_

    “I’m glad he has you guys,” Jackson says quietly, and his eyes, gleaming with something soft that Jaebum can’t quite decipher, pull Jaebum from his thoughts.

    “I’m glad too.  That he has us, that we have him.  He’s...”  There’s a lot Jaebum could say, there.  That Bambam’s been integral for his own self-acceptance, that Bambam’s been a light in what’s too often a world of darkness, that Bambam’s just _kind_ and  _fun_ and _giving_ and _loving_ and deserves absolutely everything _good_ in the world.  But those are all too big, too deep, of observations for a diner off campus and for a man who’s essentially a stranger, as much as he doesn’t feel like one, so he settles on repeating, “He’s a good kid.”

     Jackson’s smile softens, edges smoothed away by something that looks like contentment, as he nods in affirmation.  “He is,” he agrees quietly.  Jackson’s eyes stay on him, and the intensity and strange intimacy of it all has Jaebum’s mouth feeling dry and the air in his lungs feeling dense and thick.  “I wish I had had a Jaebum-hyung and Jinyoung-hyung across the hall from me when I was just a bumbling first-year foreign student.”

     The breath Jaebum finally manages to take in is shaky and halting, and it has him idly wondering if there’s something off with the building’s ventilation system.  “Where are you from?  I don’t think Bambam mentioned,” he manages, reaching for his water so swallowing stops being so _hard_. 

    “Ah hyung, you mean my accent and horrible Korean didn’t give it away?” Jackson says, dramatically clutching his chest and fluttering his eyelashes in a way that has laughter bubbling from Jaebum’s lips.  “I moved here from Hong Kong.”

    “Ah,” Jaebum breathes.  He knows his relationship with his family isn’t the best, but he’s not sure if he’d be comfortable moving that far away from them.  Even for school.  It may be the sense of obligation and responsibility he feels as the lone son and, even worse, the lone child, but Jaebum isn’t sure.  As much as it would make things _easier_ , he just...couldn’t.  “That sounds like it could be challenging.  And hard.”

    For a moment Jackson’s smile drops, and Jaebum can all but see the wall ascending behind his eyes, before it shudders back down and Jackson’s mouth tilts again, with a bit more fragility. For the rare time in their conversation he diverts his gaze, eyes sweeping across the diner before they settle on something outside the window, over Jaebum’s shoulder.  “I mean...yeah.  Sometimes.  I knew a bit of the language, but not enough, and the culture is so....so _different_ , and sometimes people don’t like different, you know?  Sometimes people judge different, without ever getting to know or understand it, or even _trying_ to.  And that can be frustrating.”  Jaebum’s heart aches a bit at the apparent _hurt_ in Jackson’s voice, in his entire demeanor, and then Jaebum’s recalling a younger Bambam, with broken Korean and a penchant for using gestures to convey the words that wouldn’t come and his lopsided smiles and pure _delight_ whenever Jaebum would greet him in the hallway.  It has Jaebum’s heart aching a bit more.  “But it’s been worth it,” Jackson’s adds, as his eyes flicker over again to Jaebum’s again.  “I’m glad I chose this path.  I’m happy here, so I don’t regret it.”

    That ache settles, dulls, just a bit. “I’m glad,” Jaebum says, and it startles him a little, just how much he _means_ it.  “Having friends like Bammie, who know what it’s like, must make things easier.” 

    Jackson grins at the nickname, and the ache dulls some more.  “It does.  I never imagined that the scrawny kid Mark brought home from the international student centre would stick around.  Or become so damn tall.  But I’m glad he has....well, I’m glad he’s stuck around.  Not that he’s become so tall.  That was just unfair.”

     Jaebum snorts at the unadulterated indignation that colours Jackson's tone.  “Does someone here have a height complex?”

    “Hey!  I don’t have a complex,” Jackson tells him, eyes wide in their efforts to be convincing, but it doesn’t prevent the smirk from spreading across Jaebum’s lips.  “I’m just saying....look, I wouldn’t complain if I woke up tomorrow and was a solid couple of inches taller.  And my thighs a couple of inches smaller, but that’s another issue.”

    “What?” Jaebum laughs, even as the mention of said thighs takes his mind to last night, to said thighs as they....Jaebum halts that train of thought, crosses his legs with a cough and rubs at his neck to hide the redness he's sure is rising there.  “Does that not come with the territory, as a fencer?”

    “Well, sure, but it kind of detracts from your “Wild and Sexy” persona when your legs look like a couple of drumsticks off a chicken.”

    Jaebum gapes, before laughing again. “What?!”

    Jackson props his chin in his hand, and his ankle knocks against Jaebum’s under the table as his eyes sparkle, and Jaebum feels like a firework, sizzling and hot and ready to combust.  “Not all of us can be so effortlessly chic and sexy as you, hyung,” he’s leaning over the table then, to stare seriously into Jaebum’s eyes.  “You have a gift.  Use it wisely.”

    Jackson’s solemnity splinters into a grin when Jaebum snorts, again, in a way that’s probably unattractive but can’t really be helped, because Jackson's just...funny.  And really good, seemingly, at making people laugh and just _enjoy._ “You’re ridiculous.  I’m starting to see why you and Bammie get along so well.”

     “Hyung!  You _wound_ me, with an insult like that.”

     “I’m sure you’ll live.”

     “My chances will be improved if you kiss it better.” 

     The air is suddenly stifling again, and between the thickness of it and how Jackson’s looking at him, gaze deep despite the teasing quirk of his lips, Jaebum’s afraid to breathe because he _knows_ it would be shuddering and uneasy and faltering.  Jackson, at least, seems to sense the same shift, because he’s dipping his head, and the gesture and the little smile he offers both seem somewhat apologetic.  “So, uhm...” Jackson starts, and the pause he takes to clear his throat has Jaebum feeling somewhere between relieved and _concerned_.  “How’d you meet Jinyoung?  You two seem...close.”

     There’s a flicker of something briefly across Jackson’s face.  Something that almost looks like a hybrid of uncertain curiosity and hopefulness, but it’s gone so fast that Jaebum’s sure he imagined it.  “Yeah, we are,” Jaebum manages.  “Best friends.  Our parents introduced us after I presented in high school.”

     It’s Jaebum who pauses then, not sure how much he should tell, or even _what_ he should tell, and his hesitation makes Jackson lean over to put a hand over Jaebum’s on the table and squeeze.  It’s brief, just the most fleeting of comforting touches, but it sends electricity shooting up Jaebum’s arm.  “We can change the topic, if you want,” Jackson assures him as he withdraws his hand.  Jaebum imagines, fleetingly, snatching it back, flipping it over to thread their fingers together.  “If it’s sensitive.”

    “No, it’s...fine.”  Jaebum isn’t sure why he feels compelled to share - maybe it’s because Jackson had been somewhat vulnerable and open with him, speaking of his own challenges, but it’s like now that the topic has been broached Jaebum can’t help himself.  “Just my parents were...disappointed, when I presented as an omega.  Jinyoung was a similar “disappointment” as a beta, so he’s kind of become my support system.”

    Something dark flashes across Jackson’s face, and his eyes seem to tighten as his lips twitch into a frown.  “Why would they be disappointed?  There’s nothing wrong with being an omega.  Or a beta.”

     “It is when you’re from a long line of alphas.  On both sides.  And have been raised to be an alpha.  And are an only child.”

    Jackson huffs a breath through his nose.  “Still.  There’s no sense in making you feel ashamed for something you can’t control.  I hope - “ he pauses, like he’s unsure whether he’s overstepping, but then continues anyway - “I hope they’re better now?”

     Jaebum’s eyes drop to the table at that, focus on finding patterns in the swirling dots of the linoleum because it’s easier than looking at the raw sympathy on Jackson’s face.  “They’re...okay.  It’s better now that I have my own place.”

    “I’m sure,” Jackson says.  “Well, I...I know we just met, but...if you ever need someone to talk to, or need anything at all, really, I’d be happy to help.  Contrary to popular belief, I _can_ shut up long enough to lend an ear if I need to.”  Jackson smiles when that comment earns a huff from Jaebum, but his face promptly resumes its sobriety.  “I happen to know a thing or two about difficult parents.”

    That has Jaebum looking up from the table, eyes scanning over Jackson’s face in search of hurt before he finds none and the little surge of protective panic settles.  “Yeah?”

    Jackson nods.  “They wanted me to take a fencing scholarship at Stanford.  My dad was an Olympian fencer, and my mom a World Champion gymnast.  So athletics is...in my blood.  Making it a bit of a shock when I told them I was thinking about pursuing physical therapy over fencing.”

     “I...” Jaebum’s not sure what to say.  “I’m sorry.”

    Jackson shrugs it off.  “I just want to help people, you know?  And I’m not sure if fencing would do that as much as physical therapy.  But nothing’s set in stone yet, so...we’ll see, I guess.”

     “Right,” Jaebum says with a nod.  “Well, same goes for you then...about being willing to listen.  If you ever need it.”

    The surge of relief Jaebum feels when Jackson’s grin returns, as bright and sunny as earlier that day, returns. “Thank you, hyung.  I appreciate that.”

    Their lunch arrives then, and though Jaebum had been a bit anxious that things would turn awkward, his fears prove to be unfounded.  Jackson just keeps talking, and while it somewhat makes Jaebum’s head spin because the speed of it rivals Bambam, there’s also a warmth that settles inside him as he hears about Jackson’s brother in Australia, his little niece who he clearly adores and is absolutely adorable, judging from the picture that Jackson whips up on his phone with a proud smile.  He learns more about Mark, who had quickly become Jackson’s best friend after Jackson approached him in the gym demanding he teach him how to do one of those fancy front flips that _I’ll definitely show you later hyung, so prepare to be amazed!_ He learns that Mark has transferred into Jackson’s kinesiology program but has aspirations to be a gymnast, and that they’d bonded over being foreigners, because Mark hailed from America.  He learns that Jackson, and sometimes Mark, tutor a second-year student in English, because they both know that language, and it makes Jaebum feel a bit awed and inadequate before Jackson does what he seems to do with everything, and brushes it off like it’s not significant or important.  He learns that Jackson loves chocolate, the colour black, and snapbacks - due, apparently, to another complex he seems to have about the size of his face which Jaebum tells him is frankly ludicrous - and that he’ll go to karaoke bars on some weekends to rap, and Jaebum will definitely have to join him some time!  Jackson, he discovers, - at least when he isn’t like an excitable puppy - is remarkably mature and deeply passionate when it comes to the things he cares about, which, as it happens, are many.  In exchange Jaebum shows him a picture of Nora that Jackson squeals over, makes Jackson giggle with the story of being ready to get on the elevator in his apartment building only for the doors to slide open to reveal Bambam and his alpha in a very _compromising_ position, and is just about to tell him about the history exam he has coming up when Jackson reaches into his duffel bag to pull out a bottle of pills and shake one out.  “Sorry,” he apologizes with a self-deprecating little grin when Jaebum pauses mid-sentence.  “Didn’t mean to interrupt you.  Just only realized the time.”

    “The time?”  Jaebum glances at the clock mounted above the red counter of the diner, being momentarily stunned by the fact they’ve been here for almost two hours.  They’ve both long finished, plates sitting empty in front of them.  “Oh, sorry.  I must be keeping you.”

    “Hmm?” he hums after he downs the pill with the remainder of his green tea.  “Oh no, no, hyung.  I usually get Mark to remind me to take this, since we typically have lunch together, so it slipped my mind.  Which would definitely _not_ be a good thing.  Gotta be regular with these little beasts!”  The pills clack around in the bottle as he waves them before slipping them back into his bag.

    There’s an unease that settles in Jaebum’s gut, because the pills have his mind flashing back to the pain meds he’d needed as he recovered from his injury, all the patients he’d encountered during his trips to the hospital for rehab who’d been _dying_ , and his dad’s heart medication and what if something’s wrong with Jackson?  He doesn’t know how to ask, doesn’t even know if it’s his _place_ to ask and it’s stupid, to be this concerned over a guy he barely knows for pills that are probably just...vitamins, or something, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes from where the bottle had disappeared into Jackson’s bag. 

    “You can ask what they are, you know,” Jackson tells him, and the softness of it has Jaebum’s gaze shifting to his face to see a similar softness in the eyes.  “I don’t mind.  Especially if telling you will make you look a little less like your lunch is about to make a quick exit.”

     “No, it’s - it’s fine.  Not my place.”

    The softness disappears into a frown.  “Well, I don’t know about that.  We’re...friends now, right?”  His eyes are intense on Jaebum, to the point Jaebum feels like he forgets how to breathe.  Seriously, this ventilation system.  “Or at least getting there.  And I don’t keep secrets from my friends, if I can help it.  But since you still seem like you’d rather bolt than ask,” he continues, little smile tipping his lips, “they’re suppressants.  Nothing serious, I promise.”

    Jaebum lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  “Right.  Sorry, I...”  For overstepping.  For maybe making you uncomfortable.  For being too curious and out of place.  For caring stupidly much.  “Sorry.”

    “Hyung, it’s fine!  It’s okay to be a little nosy sometimes.  Hell, it’s flattering,” Jackson adds with a wink and a foot that knocks against his under the table, and it has Jaebum laughing quietly and the tension in his chest unraveling.  “That Mr. Chic-and-sexy cares about my well-being so much.”

     “Aish, shut up.”

    Jackson laughs, so loud and bright and wide that it has a few people looking or shooting less-than-impressed glances.  Jaebum hardly notices them.  “I don’t really like taking them, if I’m being honest,” Jackson admits, a bit solemnly. “You’re not supposed to be on them for extended periods because of the side effects, and the length of the fencing season is just about the maximum length of time you can take them before it starts becoming risky.”  Jaebum nods, because he does know that.  He’d asked his parents about suppressants as a teen, and had been quickly - and with some panic - informed that they were available and prescribed by doctor only in special circumstances, because they could cause a host of future reproductive issues if taken for too extended of periods.  “Fortunately they only seem to screw around with my scent.”

    “Your scent?”  Jaebum hasn’t heard of that side effect.

    “They make it sweeter, apparently, than it should be.  But it is what it is.  With fencing, I can’t afford to have training or a competition suddenly interrupted by a - “

    “Sorry for the wait, boys,” their waitress says, sweeping in to finally collect the dishes.  “Got tied up with the late lunch delivery rush.  One bill or two?”

    “One, please,” Jackson replies immediately.  “And it’ll be cash.”

    “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

    “You don’t have to do that,” Jaebum tells him once the waitress has left.

    “Ah, hyung, but I invited you!  A true gentleman picks up the tab on the first - “

    “Here you are.”

    Jackson directs a sunny smile at the waitress, but it does little to counteract the storm brewing in Jaebum at the waitress who keeps _interrupting_.  Jaebum watches as Jackson draws his wallet from his bag, extracts a few bills to drop them on the table even as he tuts and says “I insist, hyung, please,” when Jaebum reaches for his own wallet.  “Well, thank you,” Jaebum says.  “That was good.”

    “Hmm, the food or the company?” Jackson asks, one brow raised coyly. 

    “Ah...both?”

    Jackson’s squeal of “So chic and sexy,” complete with hands folded dramatically over his heart as he mock falls to the side, has Jaebum laughing unabashedly.

    He’s been doing that a lot this afternoon.  The realization settles heavily in his stomach.

    “So any plans for this afternoon?” Jackson asks him as they shuffle out of the booth, and Jaebum waits for Jackson to collect his bag before they’re heading out the door, Jackson pausing to hold it open for a couple entering.

    “Ah not really,” Jaebum admits, stuffing his hands in the centre pocket of his hoodie to hide from the chill.  “Just studying, really.  You?”

    “Mm have a lab for one of my classes this afternoon.”

     Jaebum realizes, as they walk back towards campus, that Jackson’s strides are shorter than his.  Not hugely, but he seems to take about one and a half steps for every one of Jaebum’s.

     It’s cute. 

     “Ah fun.  Is that for your class with Bambam?” 

     “Hmm?”  Jackson’s turning to look at him at that, and Jaebum realizes, then, how _close_ they are.  Jackson’s shoulder and arm keeps brushing against his own as they walk, almost too frequently to be accidental.  It has Jaebum glancing away abruptly, but he can still feel the man’s gaze on his face.  “Nah, I don’t have a class with Bam.  Fortunately for my sanity, probably.”

     Jaebum huffs out a laugh alongside Jackson’s.  “Oh?  I thought he said you did.”

    “Nope.  This lab’s for my kinesiology class.  Right now, we’re - “

     Jackson starts rambling then, discussing his current studies in terminology Jaebum definitely doesn’t understand.  He still tries to listen, though, because Jackson’s clearly excited by and passionate about the subject, and it’s _cute_ , how his steps seem to become a little bouncier and how it makes his arms swing a bit as they approach what Jaebum realizes is his apartment building.  Jackson...walked him home?  The realization has him smiling a little.

     _Damn it, Jaebum, get a grip on yourself._

     He’s still wrapped up in Jackson walking him home, in Jackson’s excitement, in _Jackson_ , that he can only seem to respond with a smile when Jackson wraps up his tale of...whatever part of the foot it is that he’s studying, and starts leaning in for a hug before he stops himself, saying that Mark keeps _telling_ him to ask people before he hugs them, because even though physical contact is his _life force_ some people don’t like it and I understand if you don’t -

     Jaebum shuts him up by drawing him in - albeit a bit roughly - for a hug. 

     Jackson seems to still and calm in his arms, a little tension Jaebum hadn’t noticed bleeding from his shoulders as his hands come up to wrap around Jaebum’s lower back and squeeze.  Jaebum fights against the inexplicable urge to bury his face in Jackson’s sweatshirt, so soft under his chin, but he can’t fight the smile that remains on his face when Jackson withdraws with a sunny expression on his own.

     Something nags at the corners of Jaebum’s mind, demanding attention and thought and consideration, but he doesn’t pay it much mind.  He can’t, not when Jackson’s squeezing his arm like he apparently likes to do and asking if he can text him and grinning to the point Jaebum swears he hears _freaking angels_ singing when Jaebum tells him he can.

     Jackson leaves then, and if Jaebum pauses to watch him leave, to blush when Jackson turns around on the other side of the road to toss a smile at Jaebum over his shoulder, nobody has to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the bit of a delay in posting this....I've been struggling with this chapter a bit. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!


	6. Missing

     Jackson _does_ text him.

     A lot, it turns out.

     Jaebum unlocks his phone the next morning to an emoji of a sun, stretching its arms in a yawn as it starts the day with a “Good Morning!”  The absurdity of it has Jaebum grinning like an idiot and burying his face into the pillow because the width of his smile embarrasses even him.

     Jackson texts him again at around 1, asking if he’s eaten, which is ironic because Jaebum, after affirming he had indeed eaten, learns that Jackson _hasn’t_.  He was too busy fencing, then cramming for an exam, and _that_ has Jaebum embracing his inner Jinyoung and nagging the younger to eat and send pictorial proof as evidence.  So when Jackson sends him a picture of himself, black snapback perched backwards on his head and eyes all doe-like as he stares at the lettuce speared on his fork, Jaebum responds with a thumbs-up. 

     The after-dinner hours have Jaebum’s phone pinging with another text from Jackson. It’s a picture of his laptop screen, logged into Netflix and with what looks like an English romance movie on it, because there are subtitles in English and a couple kissing and Jackson follows it with a delighted keyboard smash.  It has Jaebum snorting, replying “Good movie?” and decidedly ignoring Jinyoung’s obvious stare and raised eyebrow.

     That pattern continues.

     Every day.

     Jaebum doesn’t think he’s ever spoken so much to a single person.  At least, not in a while.  He doesn’t even converse this much with Jinyoung, because him and Jinyoung know each other well enough by now to be content with long silences and communicating through glances.  The morning, lunch, and evening texts turn into exhaustive conversations of how are classes going, how’d your exam go, and _try to get some sleep before your exam today, hyung, you’ve got this_!  That last message comes attached to another selfie, of Jackson staring at the camera with determined eyes, an encouraging grin, and a thumbs up with the word “Fighting” in block letters across the bottom, and it has Jaebum feeling substantially better about his exam than he had before.

     In fact, he’s pretty sure he nailed it.  When he tells Jackson that, he receives a video of Jackson cheering in return.

     It makes Jaebum’s chest feel somewhat like it’s on fire.

     Those messages, too, evolve.  They evolve into discussions about food, and the new pizza place that opened down the street from Jaebum’s apartment that Jackson swears he’ll break his regimented organic diet to try and makes Jaebum promise he’ll accompany him to.  They talk about Jackson’s fencing, his approaching competition schedule, and how Jackson saw a stray cat on his way home from school that he just about adopted because it had two little patches of black fur above its eye that reminded Jackson of Jaebum, and it was _so_ cute, hyung, you wouldn’t imagine!

     Jaebum’s burning the midnight oil - or 3:00 a.m. oil, more appropriately - working on his laptop on a piece for his production class, when his phone pings.  It makes the sound of a little “woof,” now, because Jaebum had changed it when it became apparent that Jackson would be texting him with such frequency, and his phone’s little “ping” default had started to grate on his nerves.  It was clever, Jaebum had thought to himself, and so _Jackson_ and made Jaebum smile a little like a Pavlovian response whenever it chimed.

     It’s a picture of Jackson’s niece - Aimee, Jaebum knows now.  She’s cute, in a pink tutu with a little bow in her hair, and the little heart-eyes emoji that Jackson sends along with it has warmth settling in Jaebum’s chest.

     “Awwwww,” he responds, and returns his phone, face down, to his desk.

     It’s not...going well.  He has a vision of what he wants it to sound like, wants to achieve that vision because this assignment is worth a substantial portion of his grade, but he can’t seem to get even close.  He keeps tinkering, tinkering, tinkering, and interspersing between those tinkerings periods of just sitting back in his chair to sigh, twirling a pencil in his fingers because said tinkerings just aren’t...doing anything.  It’s not _right_ , there’s something just _missing_ , all the time, but Jaebum can’t figure out what it is.

     A little woof sounds out again.  Jaebum flips his phone over.

 

Wang-Puppy

_Y u still up, hyung?_

 

    The abbreviations make Jaebum roll his eyes.  Only slightly fondly.

 

Jaebum

_Trying to be productive.  Failing miserably._

Wang-Puppy

_Aww.  Bc I’m bothering u??_

Jaebum

_Nah.  You’re fine.  Just isn’t going well._

_What are you still doing up?_

Wang-Puppy

... _Can I call u?_

     That has Jaebum pausing.  It’s a...line they haven’t crossed.  Not that phone calls are really a line, per se, but it’s decidedly more intimidate than texting and it still gives Jaebum pause, because _damn it, Jaebum, didn’t we talk about getting too involved and getting your hopes up_?  But then Jackson’s sending a little frowny face emoji that has Jaebum’s heart doing something weird, so he sends a quick thumbs up before he can think too much about it.

     His phone rings just a few seconds later.  He fumbles with it, even despite the warning, and has to draw in a shaky breath before he’s sliding his thumb across the screen to accept the call.

     “Hi Jackson-ah.”

     “Hyung.”

     Jackson sounds _sad_ , and that weird thing Jaebum’s heart was doing just worsens, and it feels like his chest is tight.  “Jackson-ah, what’s wrong?”

     Jackson pauses, and there’s a shuddery breath that filters through the line that Jaebum _hates._  “I...I don’t really know?  Which sounds stupid.  But I’ve been trying to sleep, and I just _can’t_ , because I can’t shut my brain off.”

     Jaebum hums, because he knows that feeling.  Especially lately.  “Anything I can do?”

     “Aww, hyung.  You care!”

     Any other time, Jaebum would laugh at Jackson’s excitement.  But he can hear the uncertainty and the pain, jagged at the edges of his voice, and knows the exuberance is a show.  So he tries to convey all the sincerity in his bones with his “I do.”

     Jackson’s silent then, and Jaebum leans back in his chair, wishing he could see his face.  See if he looks as hurt as he sounds.  Draw him into a hug if he does, because he knows Jackson would like it.  “Thank you, hyung,” Jaebum hears, and it's quiet and a bit distant and it makes his heart just ache some more.

     “Anything you want to chat about?”

     “I...I don’t want to disturb you.  If you’re working.”

     “You could never disturb me, Jackson-ah.  Well, maybe you could if you sent me another meme of me at 4:00 in the morning - which I still don’t understand how you made - but...other than that, never.”

     Jackson’s laugh is a little watery, but it’s still a laugh, and Jaebum considers it a win.  “I thought your assignment was due later this week?  I know it’s an important one.”

     “It is,” Jaebum accedes.  “But you’re important too.  What’s bothering you?”

     “I...if you really want me to answer that question, hyung, we’re gonna be here a while.”

     “That’s okay,” Jaebum says, closing his laptop.  He doesn’t foresee being able to accomplish anything more tonight - or this morning, whatever - and some things, he thinks, are more pressing.  “I think I’m going to quit for the night anyway.  I’m not getting anywhere with this.”

     “You need a break, hyung.  I know you’ve been stressing out about this assignment.”

     Jaebum just hums, standing to flick off the switch of the floor lamp beside his desk.  The room dulls considerably, then, brightened only by the moon beams streaming through the window and the poor little ceiling lamp just by his door.  “You trying to distract me, Jackson?”

     “Ah...no?”

     Jaebum laughs a little, conscious of Jinyoung sleeping on the other side of the wall - at least, if his snores are any indication.  “I’m going to get ready for bed, but you can talk to me, okay?”

     And talk Jackson does.  About how he got that picture of his niece from his brother that evening, and it had him just...missing his family.  _So much_.  Jaebum listens, connecting his headphones so he can listen hands-free as he unbuttons the dress shirt he’d worn for his seminar that day, washes his face and pats some of Jackson’s truly magical cream on the small of his back, and pads out to the kitchen for a glass of water before returning to his room.  He breaks into a yawn, halfway through Jackson’s story about having talked to his parents last week only for things to turn tense, _again_ , when they urged him to focus more on his fencing.  “You should go to bed, hyung,” Jackson tells him.

     “I am,” he replies, flicking the lights off and stumbling into bed.  “Just getting in now.  But if you want to keep talking, that’s fine.”

     “Do you ever miss home, hyung?”

     Jackson’s voice is so small that it has Jaebum wanting to reach through the phone and just wrap him up in his arms. “Yeah,” he admits instead.  “More than I’d like to, really.”

     “Yeah?”

     “Yeah.  I’ve told you I don’t have the...best relationship with my parents.”  Jackson hums in confirmation.  “But they’re still my parents, you know?  And there were some good times, before things...changed.  Before the expectations and the responsibilities weighed me down.  I know I’m better off here, with Jinyoung and Bam and...” - he isn’t sure he should say it, decides to throw caution to the wind because Jackson sounds like he needs it tonight and it would be lying, at this point, if it wasn’t _true_ anyway - “you, but yeah.  I miss them.” 

     “How do you deal with it?” 

     “Just...one hour at a time.  One day at a time.  It’s better when you’re busy.  When you keep your brain occupied.  But when you can’t, talking about it helps.”

     “Thanks, hyung.  For talking about it.  With me.”

     “Of course, Jackson-ah.”

     It’s silent on the other end of the line after that, and it has Jaebum pausing, because he’d almost wonder if they’d gotten disconnected if it weren’t for the little sniffles he still hears from Jackson occasionally.  “Jackson? You still with me?” 

     “Yeah, hyung,” Jackson replies, clearing his throat a little.  “Sorry.  Would you...uh...nevermind, you should go to bed.  Get some rest.”

     “Not until you tell me what you were just about to ask.”

     “I - “ Jackson halts again, and it makes Jaebum uneasy, that uncertainty, because for Jackson to be uncertain about something means it’s _important._ “I was wondering if you’d want to come over?  Tomorrow night?  Or tonight, I guess, since it’s technically today anyway...well, today as in the tomorrow I would have meant if it was yesterday like I thought it was, and -  “

     “Jackson.”

     Jaebum doesn’t even bother to try to stop the smile at this point.  He knows it’s futile.

     “Right, I’m rambling,” Jackson admits with a laugh, and Jaebum’s not sure if it’s just the echo of his phone, but it almost sounds just a little bit hysterical.  “Ah - anyway, would you?  Just for pizza.  Or something else, doesn’t matter.  Really, I’m fine with whatever.  Maybe a movie too?  To go with the pizza.  Or the other thing you’d prefer over pizza - “

     “Pizza’s fine, Jackson - “

     “Or if you’re not up for it, that’s...cool.  Too.  A “some other time” is a totally valid response here.”

     Pizza.  A movie.  Jaebum’s not sure he has _time_ for a movie, for an evening with...a friend...because he should be finishing up his piece, or starting to study for his exam next week, or starting research for his history paper due the week after that.  But the promise of a movie with Jackson is too inviting.  He can spare a few hours, right?  Spare an evening?  It’s not like he’s out partying every weekend like some students - ahem, Bambam - so he’s earned it.  What harm could an evening do, in the grand scheme of things?

     Right?

     There’s a part of his brain, the _rational_ and _logical_ and not _masochistic_ part, that tries to warn him that an evening with _Jackson_ could do a world of harm.  He ignores it.

     He’s becoming pretty good at ignoring that part lately.

     “We could...do that,” he says finally, and his chest unravels at the relieved sigh that trickles down the line.

     “Okay.  We could...okay.”

     “What I meant to say was...I’d like that.”

     He would.   _God_ , he would.  _Too much._

“Me too, hyung,” Jackson replies quietly.  “And you deserve a break.  It’d be good for you.”

      _You’d be good for me._ “It would be,” Jaebum responds around a yawn.  He curls up on his side, tucking the covers up under his chin as he stretches his toes.  “Thank you for inviting me.”

     “Of course, hyung,” Jackson mumbles.  “It’s....the least I can do, after you’ve listened to me ramble tonight.  Normally I’d talk to Mark about this sort of thing, but his parents are here for the week so he’s spending some time with them and - “

     “I don’t mind.  Really, Sseun-ah.”

     The nickname slips out, unbidden.  Jaebum feels like he’s on the brink of sleep, eyes heavy and breathing getting deeper, lulled into calmness by the deepness and steadiness of Jackson’s voice.  He blames it on that.

     “Seun-ah,” Jackson breathes.  “I like that, hyung.”

     “Okay.”

     “Okay.”  Jackson pauses then, and Jaebum would like to think he’s smiling.  Jackson’s so _beautiful_ when he smiles.  It’s not fair, his drifting brain supplies.  So much of this just isn’t _fair._ “I should let you go, hyung.  You sound sleepy.”

     “‘mm not.”

     “Sure,” Jackson giggles, before he’s clearing his throat just the slightest.  “Thank you, hyung.”

     “‘elcome, Sseun-ah.”

     Jaebum falls asleep, listening to Jackson’s breathing through the phone.

     He doesn’t know that on the other end, Jackson eventually does the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for all you beautiful people. Coming up next....Youngjae!


	7. Inviting

     Jaebum wakes up the next morning to a nearly dead phone squished beneath his face and the pillow.

     He’s a bit disoriented by it all, because he’s developed a well-honed routine of checking Instagram and Twitter for a few minutes to unwind before plugging in his phone to charge on the nightstand and turning in for the night.  But then he unlocks his phone and sees, in his call history, a many-hour long phone record with “Wang-Puppy” that was just ended an hour ago, and it all comes back.

     Talking.  About their families.  Jackson rambling to him as he got ready for bed.  Jaebum falling asleep on him.  Again.

     Jesus, he’s got to stop _doing_ that.

     But as he checks his texts, there’s one from Jackson, and the unease at having possibly upset him melts away.

 

**Jackson-ah**

_Good morning, hyung! Thx for talking last night. <3_

     The little heart has Jaebum’s stuttering before it remembers how to work properly.  It makes his throat a bit dry, makes him swallow around it even as his fingers move to shakily respond. 

 

**Jaebum**

_Anytime, Jackson-ah._

     He pushes upright to sit up in his bed, covers pooling around his legs as he scrubs his fingers over his eyes with a yawn that feels like it dislocates his jaw.  It’s 9:30, just a half hour before Jackson’s fencing practice starts, so Jaebum isn’t expecting an immediate response. 

     He gets one anyway.

 

**Jackson-ah**

_6:00 work for tonight?  If ur still up for it_

 

**Jaebum**

_6:00 is great._

**Jackson-ah**

_Yay, hyung!  I’m so excited.  See u at 6!! Have a great day, hyung!_

     The smile blooms across Jaebum’s face in tandem with the warmth in his chest.  Jackson’s just too good, too sweet and wholesome, for this world.

 

**Jaebum**

_See you at 6. You have a good day too, Jackson-ah._

     He only debates it for six minutes before he adds a little heart at the end.  It’s worth it, he figures, when Jackson sends back a video of himself squealing and toppling over, hand clutched over his heart.

 

 

 

 

 

     Working on his assignment for the rest of the day actually goes...incredibly well.  Remarkably and fantastically well, even.  All the elements, all the pieces, that he’d envisioned but hadn’t been able to bring to fruition last night just seem to _happen_ and _click_ , and by the time 5:00 rolls around, he’s feeling supremely satisfied with his progress for the day.

     Jaebum loves that feeling.  It doesn’t happen enough, as a student in a finicky program like music production that relies so _heavily_ on inspiration, but today’s been one of the good days.

     Somewhere, in the back of his brain, he idly wonders how much of it was due to talking with Jackson.  Which, in itself, was just refreshing and like a breath of fresh air after weeks of staleness.  He quickly distances himself from the thought.

_Back off, Jaebum._

     He hops in the shower quickly, to scrub the remains of a long day of working and thinking from his body, and spends an embarrassingly long amount of time just...standing in front of his closet.  Contemplating.  Trying to channel his inner Bambam for about a half a minute before giving up, because Jaebum’s not sure he even wants to go there.  He values his sanity too much, and it’s already dwindling too much because of school.  He can’t afford to lose it entirely thinking about how _Bambam_ thinks.

     He eventually settles on a black t-shirt underneath his green bomber jacket, atop a pair of dark wash jeans he _knows_ he looks good in, because Bambam’s told him they fit _just right around your thighs, hyung, oh my god_ and Jinyoung’s smacked his ass in them.  There’s a pile of tried-on clothes now lying on a heap on his bed, but it can wait.  It can wait, because it’s 5:30 and if he calculated it correctly, it takes him at least 15 minutes to walk to the address Jackson had sent him, and he still has to put gel in his hair to make it do....something.  Something other than the wild floppy mess it is currently.

     It’s a bit wild, the process of him trying to gel his hair, because there’s a nervousness in his gut that’s making him somewhat nauseous and his heart is beating faster than the drums in that English music Bambam likes to listen to.  His hands definitely _do not_ shake a bit, and he definitely does not spend a solid minute with his fingers clasping the edge of the sink feeling like he wants to throw up.

     He doesn’t know why he’s this nervous.  He shouldn’t be.  Jackson is a nice guy, a friendly guy, who could probably befriend a rabid squirrel - successfully - and it doesn’t mean anything.  It doesn’t _have_ to mean anything.  Jaebum’s just overthinking things, like he usually does, and he’ll just go over and be friendly and get to know Jackson as a _friend_ and Bambam’s _omega crush_ and totally not contribute to what is definitely _not_ a crush that’s blossoming wildly out of control.

     Jesus, he’s delusional.

 

 

 

 

 

     He’d been hoping to make it out of the apartment unseen.  Unquestioned.  He has enough questions swirling through his own mind, enough doubts stampeding through his brain, that if he encounters any more he might just not go.

     And he _wants_ to go.

     But Jinyoung’s there, at the kitchen table, glasses perched on his nose as he flips through a script for one of his acting classes. Although Jaebum tries to move all stealthily and like a cat to avoid detection, it’s pretty much impossible when Jinyoung seems to have a sixth sense for all things Jaebum-related.  Of course, the open layout of the apartment has Jaebum passing right in front of him, and certainly does not do him any favours in his efforts to be covert.

      He can see the curiosity in the tilt of Jinyoung’s head, in the way he tilts his glasses down on his nose to run his eyes up and down Jaebum’s frame, in the way the pencil dangling from his fingers starts tapping a staccato rhythm against the script he's studying.  It has Jaebum’s already uneasy stomach just plummeting.

     “Well well well,” Jinyoung drawls.  “Someone’s looking like a snack.  Going somewhere, sailor?”

     Jaebum just settles on breezing by him like he didn’t hear him, until Jinyoung wolf-whistles at him and Jaebum bares his teeth.  That makes Jinyoung wiggle his eyebrows and shimmy at him, and he looks so _ridiculous_ that Jaebum wishes he had video evidence of it to blackmail him.  For an eternity.  “I’m going out,” he replies brusquely, beelining for the door to grab his boots.

     “Could’ve fooled me,” Jinyoung replies, and the sarcasm does not evade Jaebum.  “Last time I saw you this dressed up was when there was that TA in first-year English that kept giving you the eye.  And you kept pretending you didn’t spend half of every class devouring him with _your_ eyes.”  He pauses, keeps staring at Jaebum as his pencil rat-tat-tats against the table.  “Did you want to alert the press that you’re breaking your eternal solitude to _go out_ and have a _social life_ , or should I?”

     “You disgust me,” Jaebum tells him simply as he finishes tying his boots.  “At least I have somewhere to go on a...Wednesday night.”

     It doesn’t have quite the ring Jaebum was anticipating. 

     Whatever.

     Jinyoung just snorts.  “Sure, hyung. You’re a real social animal.”

     Jaebum cuts him off by slamming the apartment door. He still hears Jinyoung’s totally unnecessary cry of “Use protection!” through the wood.

 

 

 

 

 

     The universe, it would seem, is completely and irrevocably _against him_.  It hates him, you could even say, and likes to see him suffer almost as much as Jinyoung does, because the moment the elevator doors open on the bottom floor, he’s greeted with Bambam’s face. 

     The kid looks tired and worn out, like a long day of classes can do to you, especially when - like Bambam does - classes are treated as an...optional venture.  To attend only when the rare and fleeting inspiration strikes.  His hair is oddly wild for a kid that prides himself like a damn _peacock_ on his appearance, his lenseless glasses are askew, and his shoulders are uncharacteristically hunched in, like maintaining his normal posture is just _too much work_.

     Bambam manages a weak little smile as Jaebum gets off the elevator, and although Jaebum’s in a rush and really doesn’t have time to chat, especially when chatting with Bambam is sure to flood him with guilt because _does he know? does he know I’m going to see his omega?,_ Jaebum still runs a hand over Bambam’s head to settle on the back of his neck.  Bam seems to _melt_ under the touch, and Jaebum gives him a little squeeze.  “You okay, kid?  You look a little...rough.”

     Bambam lets out a long-suffering sigh, like the entire day had consisted of the universe challenging him and winning.  “I know, hyung.  You know it’s been a long day when even _you_ look better and more put together than I do.” 

     Jaebum tries not to be offended by that.  The way Bambam yelps as he squirms to get Jaebum’s hand off his neck, and proceeds to rub the spot like Jaebum had squeezed a bit too hard, makes it clear he failed.

     “You go up and get some rest, okay?  I’ll tell Jinyoungie to bring you over some food.”

     Bambam nods petulantly, pout on his lips as he shuffles his feet a little.  “Where you headed, hyung?”

     Jaebum considers, for the briefest of seconds, not telling him.  Or being vague.  Or just...lying.  But it doesn’t sit well with him, and he knows it would leave a bad taste in his mouth. “I’m...going to hang out with Jackson.”

     “Oh,” Bambam replies, and it’s weird because he almost looks...happy about that?

     “Is...that okay?  With you?  I mean, does it...bother you?” 

     Bambam blinks at that, like it hadn’t even occurred to him to be bothered by Jaebum _hanging out_ with the guy he _likes_. “No?” he replies, and the way he squints at Jaebum leaves him feeling like he’s missing something.  “Why would it bother me?”

     Jaebum just...gapes.  He’s sure it’s very attractive, the way his mouth keeps opening and closing as he tries to figure out how to reply.  “Ah...because you...like Jackson?”

     Bambam’s shoulders collapse in more, and the confusion that streams across his face has more blooming inside Jaebum.  “Of course I like Jackson-hyung?  He’s super cool.”

     “No, you...like, you _like_ , Jackson.”

     Bambam just blinks.

     “You have a crush on him, right?”

     Bambam just...keeps blinking.  Like he’s trying to process the information, and Jaebum can almost smell the smoke and see the gears in his brain turning, until they almost visibly grind to a halt.  Recognition flashes across Bambam’s face, followed by what seems like a hundred other emotions, until it settles on something between hysteria and disbelief. “A crush?” he manages, between peals of laughter that have Jaebum’s eyes flitting cautiously to the couple sitting in the apartment lobby.  “Me?  On Jackson-hyung?  I have a crush on _Jackson_ -hyung?”

     Bambam’s laughing so hard, bent over now, that it looks like he’s malfunctioning.  It has Jaebum mildly concerned, even though his own brain is reeling.  “I...don’t you?”

     “No!” Bambam all but shouts, and _that_ definitely makes the couple glance over with a bit of exasperation at the high pitched shrieked.  There are tears streaming from his eyes now, and he’s heaving deep breaths as he tries to calm his laughter, and yes, Jaebum’s definitely concerned because it’s like he _broke_ Bambam.  “I definitely do _not_ have a crush on Jackson-hyung.  God.”

     Jaebum isn’t sure the relief that quickly sweeps through him is good.  Because the fact remains that Jackson’s still an _omega_ , and thus decidedly off limits, even if Bambam hasn’t....hmm. There’s something nagging at Jaebum’s mind again, but he can’t place it.  “Oh.  I...oh.”

     “That was funny,” Bambam manages, ramming a finger into the elevator button and stepping on when the doors immediately open.  When he turns to face Jaebum again and ram his finger into the floor button, he looks somewhat manic and hysterical.  “Thank you, hyung, I needed that laugh today.”

     Jaebum can still hear Bambam muttering about “crushes” and “Jackson-hyung” and “ridiculous” as the door slips shut.  Even as the elevator ascends, Jaebum swears he hears another cackle trickling down from inside.

     It’s enough to have Jaebum sending a haphazard text to Jinyoung telling him to check that Bambam does indeed make it to his apartment in one piece and doesn’t starve for the night, before a glance at the clock has him swearing and dashing for the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     He arrives late.

     There were so many _pedestrians_ , and the traffic lights just wouldn’t cooperate with him, and there was an old lady struggling to push her walker over a bump in his sidewalk so _of course_ he had to stop and help.  So by the time he arrives at the apartment building Jackson had directed him to that morning and knocks - a little frantically - against the door of the unit he’d specified, Jaebum’s just a tad out of breath and a smidgen harried.

     There’s a few moments then, of him just awkwardly standing in the hallway, so he uses it to run a hand over his hair to make sure nothing’s askew, tuck and then untuck the front of his shirt from his jeans, and -

     The door swings open then.

     And it’s _not_ Jackson.

     It’s this kid, hair long and blond and parted in the middle, and a smile on his face the size of....something.  Jaebum can’t think of a good analogy for how _wide_ and  _bright_ it is, because it’s a bit like looking at the sun, and leaves him momentarily stunned. 

     “Hi!” the kid says, voice loud.  He seems to realize his volume then, because he shuffles his feet a bit sheepishly and tugs on the hem of his black sweatshirt with a meeker - though no less stunning - grin.

     God, Jaebum wants to _adopt_ him.

     “Uh, hey.  Sorry, I...must have the wrong place.”  Because this kid - adorable as he is - sure isn’t Mark, and he sure as hell isn’t Jackson, and Jaebum’s pretty sure Jackson only has the one roommate?  “I was looking for Jackson Wang?”

     “Oh!” he replies, and the smile widens again, and Jaebum thinks it should come with a warning, because it could be _dangerous_ if wielded incorrectly and inadvertently blind someone.  “He’s just in his room, he should be out soon.  Come on in!”

     He steps back to let Jaebum enter, and the first thing Jaebum notices are...puppies.  Cute little figurines of them on the table, one with a little crown perched on its head on the corner of the television in front of the little couch, another on the bookshelf against the right wall, and - especially - the fluffy little white one that runs towards him to sniff his shoe before baring its teeth in a growl.

     It’s not menacing - really, it couldn’t be, when Jaebum’s used to Nora sometimes biting off small chunks of his hand when she’s in one of her moods - but the kid still bends down to snatch the little ball of fluff with an admonishing “Coco!  What did we say about doing that to guests?”

     The kid touches a fingertip to the dog - Coco’s - nose, and it seems to work, because the fluff withers a bit under his stern gaze, throwing what almost looks like an apologetic glance at Jaebum.  “I’m so sorry,” the kid says, eyes wide and guilty as he looks at Jaebum, and it’s ridiculous but Jaebum swears he feels a little crack etch through his heart at how _sad_ he looks.  “We’re still working on training, aren’t we, Coco?”

     “It’s okay,” Jaebum murmurs, and on impulse brings a finger up for Coco to eye warily before sniffing.  When he doesn’t immediately lose his finger, he chances it, and strokes behind a soft ear to the kid’s delight and the dog’s begrudging tolerance.  “I have a cat, so they probably smell it on me.”

     “Aww, a kitty?”  _Damn it, he’s so cute_ , Jaebum thinks, as the kid beams at him.  “What’s its name?”

     “Nora.”

     “Nora?”  Jaebum’s about to fish into his pocket to pull out his phone with a picture of his beauty - he’s an embarrassing dad like that - until the flash of recognition in the kid’s eyes gives him pause.  “Oh! Are you Jaebum-ssi?”

     Jaebum blinks.  “Uh...yes?”

     “Oh!”  Youngjae sets Coco down then, to dip into a bow.  “I’m Youngjae.  It’s nice to meet you!  I’ve heard so much about you from Bambam and Jackson-hyung!”

     There’s a flush of heat to Jaebum’s face to match the odd pleasure that swirls in his stomach at the knowledge that Jackson’s _talked_ about him.  “Nice to meet you too, Youngjae.”

     “Wow, this is so cool,” Youngjae gushes. “Bambam talks about you _all_ the time.”

     Jaebum lets out a little sheepish laugh, bringing a hand to the back of his neck.  “So I’ve heard.  How do you know him?”

     “Oh, we’re in class together,” Youngjae replies, and Jaebum is _positive_ that the redness that appears high on Youngjae’s cheeks isn’t just a trick of the lighting.  Interesting.  “We sit together most days and - “

     “Youngjae-ah!”  A deep voice calls, and then Jaebum’s hearing a door opening and feet padding towards them and it has his throat tightening because _Jackson._ “Does this look alri - “

     Jackson halts, both in speech and in action, where the hallway opens into the living room when he meets eyes with Jaebum.  He’s in dark jeans and a striped blue button-down shirt that’s only buttoned halfway, and Jackson looks a bit shocked, mouth gaping a bit and fingers stalling on a button.  Jaebum can’t help himself, but his eyes are drawn to those flashes of _skin_ he gets occasionally as Jackson’s shirt flutters with the movement, and he’s pretty sure he sees _abs_ and _nice abs_ at that and his heart feels like it’s palpitating.  By the time he manages to tear his eyes from said _abs_ with a gulp he’s sure Youngjae can probably hear, Jackson’s looking at him with a raised brow, a little smirk that reeks of satisfaction, and a tongue that darts across his lips, lingering just enough to have Jaebum quickly diverting his gaze.

     “Hi, Jaebum-hyung!”

     It’s almost funny, Jaebum almost has to _laugh_ , and probably would if he didn’t feel a little endangered right now.  Because although Jackson’s voice is bright and warm and teasing, there’s a touch of darkness in his eyes and he approaches Jaebum.  Jaebum knows he’s been _caught_ , and it’s so _embarrassing_ , and his urge to flee doesn’t abate when Jackson draws him into one of his characteristic hugs.

     This time, though, Jackson seems to squeeze him a little tighter.  Jaebum’s not sure if he’s just imagining it though, so he mutters a quick “Hi, Jackson-ah” before they separate.

     “Sorry I’m late,” Jaebum says quietly, as Jackson finally finishes buttoning up his shirt.  _Thank God,_  Jaebum thinks, even as another part of him mourns the development.“The traffic wasn’t cooperating with me.”

     “Ah, it’s alright, hyung,” Jackson assures him with a wink.  “You’ve met Youngjae?”

     “I have, yeah.”

     “He’s the kid I was telling you about, the one Mark and I tutor in English?  We were a bit late finishing up anyway, so if anything you’re right on time.”

     “I have a new English song I’m preparing for my showcase coming up,” Youngjae pitches in then.  “Jackson-hyung is helping me with my pronunciation, because it’s so _hard._ ”

     “Ah, but you’re doing so well, Youngjae-ah!” Jackson tells him, raising a hand to ruffle his hair affectionately and the warmth and consideration in the gesture has Jaebum smiling a little.  “You’ll blow them all away.”

     “Thanks, hyung,” Youngjae says with a little laugh, and he looks embarrassed yet so pleased that it warms Jaebum’s heart.  “Anyway, I should get going.   I have an essay due next week that I _really_ need to get started on.  Now where’d Coco run off to?”

     “She was wandering down the hall when I was coming out, so maybe check Mark’s room?”

     Youngjae scurries down the hall then, nearly tripping over the couch in the process, disappearing into a room with shouts of “Coco! Coco?!”

     “I’m glad you made it,” Jackson tells him quietly, when it’s just the two of them, still standing by the door.  It’s oddly symbolic, Jaebum thinks, because it certainly feels like he’s on the precipice of something.  He wonders if Jackson feels it too, feels how the air in the little room seems dense and thick like it had in that diner.  He must, because although the darkness has faded from his eyes, they’re still so _intense_ on Jaebum, running over his face like he’s searching for something he can’t quite find.

     “I am too,” Jaebum tells him, just as quietly.

     It’s true, and the recognition of just how true it is has Jaebum’s chest feeling a tight.

_Damn it, Im._

     Youngjae comes skittering down the hall then, bursting into the room with arms full of a wriggling pup.  “Found her!” he says, grinning, and the breathiness of his voice has Jaebum laughing a little because clearly it hadn’t been an easy feat. “Thanks for the help, Jackson-hyung!  You’re sure you don’t mind helping me again tomorrow?”

     “Of course not, Youngjae-ah,” Jackson says with a laugh.

     “Okay, thanks, hyung!  Tell Mark-hyung I expect him on Overwatch this weekend,” he continues as he slides his feet into a beat-up pair of sneakers by the door.  “Was nice meeting you, Jaebum-ssi!” 

     “Just hyung is fine.  But it was nice meeting you too.”

     Youngjae pauses in the open doorway to shoot them both a wide smile, before he closes the door with a loud “Bye, hyungs!”

     And it’s silent then, but Jackson’s eyes are on him, still looking at him in a way that speaks volumes.

     Jaebum just wishes he could decipher what they’re saying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I know this one is a little slow and filler-y, but yeah...Jackbum's night in is coming up next!


	8. Hanging

     “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” Jackson says, finally, just a beat before the silence stretching between them turns awkward.

     “It’s okay,” Jaebum murmurs.

     “I can...take your jacket for you?”

     “Oh, sure, thanks,” Jaebum says, then Jackson’s sliding a hand across his back to help him from his jacket and Jaebum feels like the room’s temperature has suddenly risen about ten degrees.  It makes him adjust the collar of his black t-shirt a bit as he toes out of his shoes and watches Jackson hang his jacket in the little closet beside the door. “So, ah...Youngjae’s a singer, or...?”

     “Yeah,” Jackson says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels as he looks at Jaebum again.  It’s easier, now, Jaebum thinks, that there’s a bit of distance between them.  Easier to breathe, to think.  To ignore how his stomach seems to have rearranged itself into a bunch of knots.  “He’s in the music program, like you, but the vocal stream.  Honestly, I’m a bit surprised you two haven’t met yet.  It’s a pretty small program, isn’t it?”

     “Mm yeah,” Jaebum hums.  “But I...well, to be honest I don’t...participate in many of the program events, so, ah...I’m a bit of a - “

     “Hermit?” Jackson supplies with a teasing grin.  “I think that’s the word Jinyoung-ah used.”

     Jaebum huffs out a laugh.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I guess.”

     “That’s okay, though,” Jackson says, tilting his head as he appraises Jaebum.  Jaebum honestly would just prefer it if he’d stop _looking_ at him, because the way he’s been watching him makes it supremely difficult to focus.  “There’s nothing wrong with not being the most...sociable.  I mean, I don’t personally _get_ it, but I respect it.”

     “I’m not surprised you don’t “get it.”  Your middle name must be “sociable.””

     “Actually, it’s “loud and obnoxious.”  According to Mark, anyway.”

     Jaebum laughs a little at that, until he sees Jackson giving him _that look_ , and the laughter shrivels and dies in his throat.  The air does that thing again, where it feels like a suffocating fog has crept into the room and is just...difficult to exist in.

     Jaebum’s struggling.  A bit.  Jinyoung would say it’s because he’s a hermit and thus just clams up around people he’s not used to, and then Jaebum would chide him for using too many seafood metaphors, but....Jaebum’s just not really sure where he stands, with Jackson.  Sure, they’ve talked - a _lot_ \- but most of that has been by texting and that just doesn’t really translate over to real interaction -

     “This is awkward, isn’t it?” Jackson asks him, little smile tilting his lips as if he can sense Jaebum’s discomfort.

     “Ah...no, no, it’s fine,” Jaebum assures him, because Jackson seems a little uncertain, and it’s so seemingly uncharacteristic of him that it has Jaebum panicking a little.  Well, even more than he had been already.  “It’s...me.  You’re fine.”

     “Well, I’m hardly fine,” Jackson says with an exaggerated sigh.  “What kind of a host am I, leaving you still standing at the door?  Please, come in, dear sir,” he invites, sweeping into what looks like a poor imitation of a curtsey that has Jaebum, despite himself, tossing his head back with another laugh.  “You want pizza now, or later?  Wait, pizza’s still fine, right?”

     The living room’s cute, Jaebum decides as he pauses in the middle to glance around.  A bit sparse in the decorations - aside from the little puppy figurines that literally seem to be in _every corner_ \- but he sees touches of Jackson _everywhere_ , and it makes something like fondness settle in Jaebum’s chest, unties a few of the knots in his stomach because the entire space is just warm and welcoming and comforting.  Kind of like Jackson.  “Pizza’s good.  And I’m fine with whenever, really.”

     “Now it is!” Jackson chirps, clapping his hands once before they settle on his hips and he stares at Jaebum, looking stern and focused and somewhat like the woman Jaebum ran away from in the grocery store last week as she yelled at an employee for the dearth of sufficiently ripe mangos.  “Now for the important question.  Are you ready?”

     “Ah...are you trying to make me nervous?”

     “Well I mean, you _should_ be nervous, because if you get this wrong it could mean the end of our burgeoning and very promising...friendship.”  Jaebum notices he paused there.  He did pause there, right?  Wait, what does that _mean_?  “So, you’re ready?”

     “I...guess?”

     “What toppings?”

     Jaebum just blinks.  He can feel himself floundering, knows he probably looks like a fish out of water, because his mouth keeps opening and closing as he tries to figure out what to say. “I...uhm.”  It’s stupid, he _knows_ it’s stupid, but he’s slightly terrified at the prospect of answering _incorrectly_ , so he quickly hazards a glance around the room, as if searching for a hint, but turns up empty.  When his eyes land on Jackson again, his mouth dries up a little because now he's standing at the little doorway to the kitchen, hip propped against the door jam and arms crossed in front of him in a way that have his arms seeming to almost _explode_ from his shirt and it’s just....not fair.  It’s so many levels of not fair that it’s ridiculous.  “Ah...honestly, just pepperoni would be fine by me.  But I’m seriously good with anything?”

     Jaebum watches, waits for some expression to flicker or spread across Jackson’s otherwise impassive face.

     He doesn’t think he’s ever been so _concerned_ about pizza toppings before.

     Finally a smile tears across Jackson’s face, and it has Jaebum letting out a little sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he was holding.  “A man after my own heart,” Jackson drawls, pressing one hand to said heart as he flutters his eyelashes.  Jaebum can’t help but chuckle.  “I’ll go order.  Feel free to sit.  Or look around.  Be as nosy as you’d like.  Just make yourself at home, okay?”

     Jaebum just nods, fingers fiddling with his ring.  Jackson seems to notice his restlessness, because his eyes track down from Jaebum’s eyes to his hands and seemingly _further_ , before returning to his face with a sparkle of something in his own eyes that has Jaebum’s world kind of...tilting, a bit, on its axis.  “By the way, hyung, since I don’t think I mentioned it,” Jackson murmurs, “you look good.”

     Then he disappears into the kitchen with a smirk, leaving Jaebum still standing, gaping, in the living room, as he tries to remember how to breathe.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum sits on the couch for a whole half a minute, listening to the deep tenor of Jackson’s voice from the kitchen, before his jiggling knee annoys even himself and he decides to abate his curiosity.

     Yes, he can definitely see Jackson in the room, he decides as he moves around it.  There’s some fencing trophies in a glass-faced cabinet in the corner, alongside some equally impressive gymnastics ones belonging to Mark, and Jaebum smiles at the surge of pride he feels welling inside him.  There’s a homemade calendar of seemingly Coco on the wall, and a red tapestry beside it with a Chinese character he doesn’t recognize.  On the bookshelf - shockingly devoid of books in a way that has Jaebum snorting a bit - among the puppy figurines and odd Squirtle - huh? - there are a handful of framed pictures.  Jaebum feels odd, a little like he’s being intrusive, to look at those, so he’s about to move on until one catches his eye.

     Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he moves to pick up the picture.

     It’s Jackson, he sees abruptly, a bit younger and a bit smaller but smile no less happy and excited than Jaebum’s seen.  He’s in a white suit of some sort - his fencing attire, if the helmet propped under his one arm is any indication - and his face is the picture of pride and brilliance as his other arm holds one of the trophies from the cabinet.  There’s an older man and woman on either side of him, faces more stoic but the pride shining no less visible in their eyes, despite the graininess of the picture.

     “Those’re my parents.”

     Jaebum almost drops the picture in his haste to return it to the bookshelf, before he whirls around to drop into a bow before Jackson.  “I’m sorry.”

     “Hey, hey, no,” Jackson protests, crossing the room to him.  “You don’t need to apologize, hyung.  I meant it when I said be nosy.”  He gestures towards the picture with one hand, as the other settles on the small of Jaebum’s back, and Jaebum can almost feel the _zing_ of electricity up his spine.  “It was a few years back.  I was selected to represent the region in a national fencing competition throughout China and...I won.”

     “That’s...” Jaebum had thought it had been hard, before, when Jackson had him herded against the door with that look in his eyes.  It’s worse now, he decides, when he can feel the heat of Jackson’s palm on his back and the way his thumb keeps absentmindedly stroking, back and forth, back and forth.  “That’s incredible,” he manages, and hopes that Jackson doesn’t realize how croaky it sounds.  “Congratulations.”

     “Thanks, hyung,” Jackson says, beaming at him with enough brilliance to make Jaebum’s heart knock in his chest.  “It’s one of the last times they were....completely and totally happy.  With me.  Because a few months later I told them I wanted to study kinesiology and physical therapy in Korea.”

     “And they didn’t want you to move.”

     “Moving to Korea would’ve been fine, I think, if it was for training in fencing.  My dad probably would’ve preferred I trained in China, but there are some supremely talented, Olympic-calibre fencers here.  So I probably could’ve won him over, in time.”  He pauses then, and the hand on Jaebum’s back stills.  “They called me.  This week.  I think I mentioned that last night.”

     There’s a gravelly, rough quality to his voice now, and it’s deep, deeper than usual, and the raw emotion seeping from it has Jaebum turning to look at Jackson with a tinge of concern.  Jackson’s staring at the picture, a little line drawn between his brows and lips pulled down in a frown and he looks so _hurt_ , so in _pain_ , that Jaebum moves before thinking, clasping a hand on the back of Jackson’s neck.  Jackson seems to shudder under his palm, some of the tension bleeding out in little aftershocks.  “You did.”

     “Yeah,” Jackson sighs, and Jaebum watches as he raises a finger to hover over his mother’s face, wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it.  “It was...so nice, for a while, until they started asking about school and competitions and when I’ll finally realize I’m meant to be a fencer.  When I’ll finally realize I have “too much talent” to waste on physical therapy.”

     Jaebum frowns at that, and takes a page out of Jackson’s book, running his thumb over the nape of Jackson’s neck, smoothing the soft hairs there.  “I’d hardly consider going into a career where you help people a “waste.””

     “Me neither,” Jackson agrees, and the little laugh is self-deprecating, “but apparently they don’t share that sentiment.”

     He sounds so broken and defeated and close to giving up that Jaebum moves his hands to grip Jackson’s arms, manhandle him away from the bookshelf to look at him.  He looks so...small, Jaebum decides, shoulders all hunched in and head dipped down.  “Sure, you may be talented at fencing,” he tells him, squeezing Jackson’s arms, watching the eyelashes flutter closed, “you clearly are.  But you’re also talented at helping people, Jackson-ah.  At making people...feel better.  Be happy.”  _Making me be happy._ “You’re just...a good person.  And if helping people is what you want to do, if helping people is what will make _you_ happy, and you think physical therapy is a better avenue to do that through...”

     “I know,” Jackson breathes.  “I just....hate it.  Hate being a disappointment.”

     Something hot and protective and _angry_ wells in Jaebum’s chest, and it takes a solidly deep breath for him to push it down and level his voice.  “You’re not a disappointment, Sseun-ah,” he says, and it still comes out a little gruff, and he can’t help it, he really can’t, that his fingers tighten on Jackson’s arms.  “Nobody could be as good a person as you and _ever_ be a disappointment.”

     Jackson sharply inhales at that, then, and it sounds shuddery and a little watery.  “Can I please hug you, hyung?”

     Jaebum, despite himself, snorts out a laugh.  “When have you ever needed to ask before?”

     Jackson doesn’t move, though, so Jaebum tugs him close.

     Jackson stumbles into him, tucking his face into Jaebum’s neck, and Jaebum can feel a little wetness there.  He returns one hand to the back of Jackson’s neck, and Jackson’s wind themselves around Jaebum’s back to fist in the fabric there, and Jaebum just...holds him.

     Jaebum’s own throat feels tight, and he’s not sure whether it’s due to seeing Jackson so hurt, or how easy it is, with Jackson in his arms like this, to pretend.  To hope.  To dream.  To get lost in how _right_ and _good_ and _home_ -like it feels.

     It’s so ironic that Jaebum almost laughs.  It’s so ironic that he’s here, urging Jackson to do what makes him happy, when -

     He’s startled by Jackson nudging his nose against Jaebum’s scent gland.  It’s so soft, so gentle and _intimate_ , that Jaebum knows he shakes a little.

     “You smell so good, hyung.”

     Jaebum’s eyes flutter shut, and he leans his cheek into Jackson’s hair and the scent of cinnamon that must come from his shampoo, because Jackson's own scent is sweet and indistinguishable.  “Yeah?”

     “Yeah.  It’s so....calming.  It’s like vanilla...sweet with just a little bitterness and roughness on the edges.”  Jackson draws in another deep breath, and Jaebum feels his knees quake and his heart slam against his ribs.  “Just like you.”  He draws back then, sliding his arms from behind Jaebum’s back, down his arm to interlace their fingers, and Jaebum knows his pulse skyrockets even as something within him just...sighs in contentment.  Breathes in relief.  “It’s so weird, how comfortable I feel with you.  I mean, I’m normally comfortable around people, but...we haven't known each other that long, really, and yet I feel like you just kind of...get me?  Like I don’t have to try.  Is that stupid?”

     Jaebum’s eyes drop down to look at their hands, intertwined together.  It doesn’t feel real, they don’t seem like _his_.  But then, so little of this seems real, because he somewhat feels like he’s floating.  “It’s not stupid.  Or weird,” Jaebum tells him, because it’s _not_ stupid or weird, it can’t be when he keeps struggling, feeling the same.  “It’d only be stupid or weird if we felt it was.”

     Jackson’s lips quirk at that, and although his eyes still look a little red, the way he squeezes Jaebum’s hands is reassuring.  “So,” he says, and the mischievousness returns to dance in his eyes, “was there anything else around here you wanted to be nosy about?”

     Jaebum laughs, and his eyes immediately fall upon one of the puppy figurines on the bookshelf, the one that looks like a little beagle with a crown perched precariously upon its head, looking ready to slide off as the pup pounces for a butterfly.  “Those?”

     When Jackson follows his gaze, he lets out a bright peal of laughter.  “Ah, I should’ve expected that,” he sighs, a bit fondly and with exasperation, and although he’s dropped one of Jaebum’s hands he’s still holding the other, and Jaebum can feel the warmth of his touch all the way up his arm.  “It’s a puppy.”

     “I can see that,” Jaebum laughs, and it has Jackson leaning into him as he knocks their shoulders together with a laugh of his own.  It all feels so domestic, so wonderful and bright and promising, that something in Jaebum plummets even as the smile stays stretched across his face.  “Just...there’s so...many of them?”

     “Mmhmm,” Jackson hums.  “This one was the first, actually.  A gift from a friend back home, because Wang, in Chinese, means “king,” and I’m born in the year of the dog, so...yeah.  It just kind of spiraled out of control after that...now Mark and Bambam have both gotten into the habit, and Youngjae’s gifted me a couple as well.”

     “It’s cute.”

     Jackson looks at him then, eyes smiling and looking like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.  Instead, the hand around his gives another squeeze.

     “What about the Squirtles?”

     “Ah, hyung, don’t you see the resemblance?” Jackson all but whines.

     “I...with what?”

     “With me, idiot.”  Jackson just giggles at Jaebum’s narrowed gaze, before grabbing the little plushie off the shelf and holding it beside his face, which contorts with a wide enough grin to have his eyes disappearing into crescents until....yeah, okay, Jaebum can see the resemblance.

     A bit.

     He’s man enough to admit it’s fucking _cute._ Whatever.  Sue him.  Anyone would think so, it doesn't mean anything.

“Okay, fine,” he accedes, and Jackson lets out a whoop at that.

     “Maybe I should get you a Snorlax, hyung.”

     “A...what?”

     “He’s cute,” Jackson tells him, returning the plushie lovingly to the shelf.  “Strong and powerful but a little - well, maybe a _lot_ \- sleepy.  It fits, right?  And his eyes are narrow.  All he’s missing are these,” Jackson hums, seemingly talking to himself now, as he taps a finger to the moles above Jaebum’s eye.  “But I guess I could add those in...”  He must see Jaebum’s confusion and blank, uncomprehending stare, because he breaks off then with a grin.  “Anyways.  Any other burning questions, hyung?”

     They continue like that, Jackson obliging Jaebum’s questions and telling him about the calendar of Coco on the wall (a gift from Youngjae), the red tapestry (bearing the Chinese character for Wang and a gift from his parents), the little coffee table in front of the couch (a gift from Mark’s parents when they moved in together), the pink snapback hanging on the wall beside the door, sparkling with the gemstone “Princess” on the front (a gift from his niece).  It surprises Jaebum, a little, how thoroughly _Jackson_ the room is, with so few traces of his roommate.  But then Jackson tells him about he went furniture shopping with Mark _once_ before moving in together and had found said gymnast asleep on a loveseat not an hour later, and they’d both decided it might be best to just let Jackson take the reigns here. 

     So the entire room is just...full of gifts from people who love Jackson.  It really doesn’t surprise Jaebum at all because he's starting to feel like it’d be impossible not to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

     They end up sitting on the floor in front of the couch, focused on the laptop perched on the little coffee table, scrolling through Mark’s Netflix account, Jackson questioning him about “How about this one hyung?  Or this one?” and Jaebum agreeing to whatever he offers because...yeah.  Just because.  It’s not like he does it because every time he agrees to a movie Jackson especially likes, the younger claps his hands excitedly and squeals.  That’s not it at all.  They narrow it down to six, written out in a list on Jackson’s phone.

     “Which one sings to you, hyung?”

     “I’m pretty sure we have to start the movie for any of them to start _singing_ \- “

     “ _Hyung._ ”

     “ _Jackson_.  I told you, I’m fine - “

     “If you say you’re fine with anything, so help me _God_ \- “

     “Anything.”

     Jackson tilts his head back to look balefully at the ceiling, groans like he's contemplating the entire universe, and Jaebum’s eyes immediately narrow in on that _neck_.  Jackson swallows, and Jaebum’s mouth goes dry and he hates himself, just a tiny bit.  “You’re killing me here, hyung.”  His head snaps down then, so quick it almost gives _Jaebum_ whiplash, but the smile on Jackson’s face is big and bright.  “Wait here.”

     He dashes off, and Jaebum hears what sounds like a closet door opening before some rustling and shuffling and a quiet curse when something clearly drops.  Jaebum’s debating on going after him to ensure he’s still alive and with all limbs intact when Jackson returns, die from a board games in his palm.  He plops down beside Jaebum with a remarkable lack of grace, eyes wide and hands careful like the die is something precious and breakable.

     “Ready, hyung?” Jackson asks him, solemnly.

     “Ready, Jackson-ah,” Jaebum replies, equally solemn.

     “Any movie you’re hoping for?”

     “Ah...I’m really fine with - “

     Jackson throws the dice at him with a groan.

     Jaebum laughs as it hits him squarely in the chest, and falls between his crossed legs.  He’s about to reach for it when Jackson’s surging forward, rising onto his knees and propping one hand beside Jaebum’s knee as the other reaches to grab the die and -

     Jackson’s hand finds the die, and then he’s pausing and his eyes slowly, gradually, are running up Jaebum’s frame to meet his gaze.

     Jaebum’s breath feels like it catches in his throat, because Jackson’s so close, _so close_ , that he can feel his breath a bit on his face.  He sees Jackson swallow, sees his tongue dart across his lips as his eyes flicker downwards to latch, Jaebum knows, on his own.

     Jaebum feels like he’s on fire.  Everything seems brighter and louder and slower and his nerve endings are just _singing_ and his heart is hammering so loudly against his ribs it’s like it’s trying to _break_ them.  He shouldn't,  _God_ he shouldn't, but he's not sure if he's ever wanted anything like he wants this moment and - 

     And there’s a knock at the door.

     Jaebum scrambles to his feet, trying not to notice the frown on Jackson’s lips and the way that some wall seems to shudder up in his eyes.

     He can feel said eyes on his back as he takes the pizza, pays the delivery man, leaves the change as a tip.  He can feel the burning of Jackson’s gaze, but it’s nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the burning in Jaebum’s chest and stomach and throat and how he feels somewhat nauseous at what just almost happened.

     He isn’t sure what he was expecting when he turns around, but it’s definitely not Jackson glaring at him, eyes narrowed, lips pouting, and arms folded across his chest, as he sets the pizza on the little coffee table.

     “Hyung, we’ve talked about this!” Jackson wails _._ “I invited, I pay.”

     Something in Jaebum uncoils in relief at the fact that Jackson isn’t bringing it up.  That he doesn’t want to talk about it or _continue_ it and...small miracles, Jaebum thinks.  Still, he knows his smile is a little jilted and forced as he muses, a touch shakily, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so vehemently angry at the notion of _not_ paying for a meal before.”

     Jackson’s still pouting as he disappears into the kitchen, returns with some napkins and a couple plates.  “It’s....it’s a gentleman thing.”

     Jaebum has to roll his eyes at that.  “Well you can save your gentleman thing.  You paid last time, I pay this time.  Deal with it.”

     Jackson pouts for a moment longer, bottom lip pushed out in such a way that Jaebum can’t help but stare a little - that’s normal, anyone would do that, you’re _fine_ , Im - until it disappears into a shrug and a smile.  “Fine.  But you’ll take home any leftovers, deal?”

     Jaebum just raises a brow at him.  “You honestly think there’s going to be leftovers?”

     Jackson huffs.

     “Ah...what number?  Did it land on?”

     Jaebum doesn’t even realize he’s started fiddling with his ring until he sees Jackson notice it and abruptly forces himself to stop.  “Uh...a five," Jackson responds quietly.  "So the sappy romance movie it is.”

     Fuck.  _Fuck._

_It’s okay, you’re fine, Im....it’s just a movie, with a friend ~~who you almost kissed/who almost kissed you~~ , you’re fine..._

 

 

 

 

     It is, for the most part, fine.

     Jackson’s one of those people who chatters throughout a movie, sighing in delight and squealing and chirping commentary, and it settles Jaebum’s nerves a little.  Makes him feel less like he’s going to jump out of his skin every time Jackson settles a hand on his knee as he reaches forward for another slice, tilts his head against Jaebum’s shoulder with a sigh after a particularly sappy scene, leans in close so his breath is hot on Jaebum’s neck to make some comment that invariably has Jaebum cackling a bit.

     The only problem, really, is that Jaebum can’t stop _thinking._

The movie’s in English, with subtitles, and while normally that would elicit Jaebum’s undivided attention, he can’t seem to redirect his thoughts enough to focus on the couple on the little screen as their love burns through misunderstandings and miscommunications.

     The couple kisses, and Jaebum can’t stop his mind from drifting to two hours ago, on the floor in front of the couch, Jackson hovering in front of him and eyes heavy and steady on Jaebum’s lips.

     It’d...it’d been so close.  So _close._ And as much as he’s relieved that _close_ had been the closest they’d gotten, there’s a part of Jaebum, some deep part, that mourns the loss of what could have been.

     Wonders what Jackson would’ve tasted like, felt like, beneath his lips, beneath his mouth, beneath his tongue.

     Wonders if he would have opened up as beautifully as Jaebum imagines he would've.

     The fact that that part is so loud, so there and dominant, makes Jaebum _terrified._

He shouldn’t be here.  Not really.  It’s stupid of him, and he’s been nothing _but_ stupid this entire fucking week, because Jackson is _wonderful_ and kind and thoughtful and hilarious and everything Jaebum’s ever really _dreamt_ of and makes Jaebum feel...things.  Things he shouldn’t.

     Not for an omega.

     He’s only here, in university, to find a strong, educated alpha, who can provide for him while he pops out what will hopefully be strong little alpha pups or else he’s failed.  His duty, his family, his parents, what they always tell him is his sole obligation now as an omega.  University was his only shot, his only chance to find someone of his own accord before he returned home and allowed his parents to arrange a marriage.  Instead he’s here with Jackson.

     An omega.  It doesn't matter that Bambam isn't interested, like Jaebum had thought.  It doesn't matter, in the end, because that's not what the crux of the dilemma is.

     He can’t -

     There’s a little sniffle, then, and a hand reaches out to grab onto Jaebum’s, thread its fingers through his.

     Jaebum kind of wants to cry.

     If only.

     If only Jaebum had been an alpha like he was supposed to be.

     If only his parents weren’t so traditional, so conservative, so _set_ on alpha lineage and strong alpha bloodlines.

     If only Jackson wasn’t an omega.

     He should pull his hand away.  He should get up and make some excuse about exams or essays or _something_ and leave and never come back.  He should bury himself in his studies, just survive the next term until he’ll graduate and go home and -

     He can’t.  He can’t pull his hand free.  It’s so warm, within Jackson’s large palm, and it fits there even though it shouldn’t and it makes something in Jaebum feel like it clicks.  Back into place, or into place for the first time, he doesn’t know which.

     He can’t leave, not now, not when he looks and Jackson’s cheeks are glistening with tears and his chest keeps rising and falling in little stuttery breaths.

     He’s so screwed, because he thinks, then, that Jackson's just impossibly beautiful.  Yeah, he's so, so screwed.

     Jackson’s long-suffering sigh startles him a bit, and the couple on screen, connected in a searing kiss after being finally reunited, fades into the credits.

     Jackson’s hand doesn’t let go of his, even as he reaches over to pause the movie on the credit screen.

     “Have you ever had a whirlwind romance like that, hyung?”

     Jackson’s watching him, eyes wide and red-rimmed and teary as he dabs his sleeves over his cheeks.  His head’s tilted back against the couch, and he looks so innocent it makes Jaebum’s chest ache.  “No,” Jaebum admits quietly.  “No, I haven’t.”

     He doubt he ever will, either.  He has one more term, one more term until he returns home to settle down with one of the alphas his parents arrange him with, to pop out pups until -

     “Hyung?”

     Jaebum blinks away the vision in his head - of himself rearing the children he has with a husband he doesn’t care much for, and who doesn’t care much for him - to see Jackson staring at him, mouth pulled down and forehead lined with concern.

     “Yeah, Jackson-ah?”

     “Where’d you go, up in here?” Jackson asks him, voice quiet, quieter than Jaebum’s ever heard, and he shifts a little so he can bring his free hand to tap a finger against Jaebum’s temple, so softly it _hurts._

     Jaebum forces a smile.  “Nowhere important.”

     At least, nowhere more important than here, than now.  He can enjoy this.  Now, for tonight, and he can think tomorrow about where to go from here.

     “It must be important, hyung,” Jackson disagrees, eyes scanning over Jaebum’s face as his fingers play with a lock of hair by Jaebum’s ear in a way that has Jaebum unconsciously leaning into the touch before he realizes it and stills himself.  “It must be important if it can make you look so sad.”

     Jaebum huffs out a laugh.  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re far too observant for your own good?”

     “Ah, so you _are_ sad,” Jackson hums a little triumphantly, and tugs teasingly on that lock of Jaebum’s hair before smoothing it apologetically and dropping his hand to rest on Jaebum’s knee.  It burns through his jeans.  “Wanna talk about it?  Since I’ve already cried all over you and spilled my deepest, darkest secrets to you tonight?”

     Jaebum sighs a little, and it has Jackson rubbing his thumb over the back of Jaebum’s hand, so softly and soothingly and gently that he feels wetness welling in his throat and tries to swallow around it.  “It’s really nothing important,” he tells him.

     “Was it the movie?  Did it make you sad?”

     “Yeah,” Jaebum says.  It isn’t entirely the truth, but it’s close enough.

     “Ah the movie wasn’t supposed to be sad, hyung!” Jackson says, lips pursed in a pout, and then he’s reaching a foot up to spitefully nudge the laptop closed.  “There, the movie’s gone.”

     Jaebum hides his smile in the couch’s cushion.  “My hero, vanquishing the foe.”

     There’s a flash of a grin across Jackson’s face at the sarcasm, until it dulls, disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared.  “I was hoping tonight would help you unwind a little, relax and take your mind off your assignment.  Instead I screwed things up and got sad, then made _you_ sad.”

     “You didn’t make me sad, Jackson-ah.”  You made me happy.  You _make_ me happy, and it’s such an _issue_.  “You did help.  I...needed this.  Just a night of pizza and a movie and relaxing.”

     “You really did, hyung.  I know you’ve been stressed about this piece, and - “

     “I finished it.  Well, most of it.  I think.”

     “You did?!  You didn’t tell me that!”

     “I - it just happened.  Today.  I guess I was feeling...inspired?  I don’t really know.  But I finished most of it.”

     “Hyung, that’s so great!  I’m so proud of you!”

     Jaebum’s heart does this weird thing where it simultaneously rises in his throat and drops into his stomach, at just how much pride he _does_ see in Jackson’s face.  “Thanks, Jackson-ah,” he replies quietly.

     “I’d love to hear it sometime,” Jackson says suddenly, before his eyes widen.  “Aish, sorry.  I don’t want to pressure you into letting me hear it or make you feel obligated or - “

     “It’s fine,” Jaebum tells him.  “I’ll...I’ll send it to you, okay?  When it’s done.”

     “Okay.” Jackson’s eyes linger on him, so soft and gentle that Jaebum has to swallow around that lump in his throat again.  God, this _hurts_ , it hurts because Jaebum knows that now is the time to draw a line in the sand, because he feels himself getting in too far, too deep, too fast and he needs to retreat before he gets hurt.  But he wasn’t expecting it to hurt this much, this soon.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

     The lump in Jaebum’s throat just keeps growing and swelling and expanding, and he needs to leave.  Needs to leave now.  “Yeah,” he gasps, in a way that definitely does _not_ sound okay, even to his ears.  But he can’t...he can’t _breathe_ in here, when all he sees are puppies and Squirtles and _Jackson._ “Yeah, I just....I think I need to go home.”

     “Okay,” Jackson repeats, and even though he looks calm, Jaebum can see the concern flashing in his eyes as Jaebum rushes to his feet and immediately steps towards the door.  Jackson’s quick to follow him, retrieving his jacket from the closet as Jaebum shoves his feet into his shoes, but when he moves to help him into it Jaebum just tears it from his hands and throws it over his arm.

     He tries not to feel guilty at the way Jackson seems to wilt at that.

     He fails miserably.

     “I’m sorry” comes stumbling from Jaebum’s lips.  He doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for, not specifically, because there’s so much, _so so much -_

“It’s okay,” Jackson tells him.  “Just text me when you get home, okay?  Please?  So I know you made it safely?”

     Jaebum just nods.  He can’t speak, not anymore, not when Jackson’s so undeservedly concerned and Jaebum can feel himself on the verge of what feels like a panic attack.

     Jackson opens the door for him, holds it propped open with his hip and just...looks at Jaebum.  Looks at Jaebum with those eyes brimming with concern and Jaebum would feel even more guilty, even more disappointed in himself, if he could register anything but the panic spurting into and closing his throat.  And then Jackson’s moving, quickly, too quickly for Jaebum to stop him, like he has to do it fast before he changes his mind.

     A hand comes up on either side of Jaebum’s face, and lips press against his forehead.

     Warm.  Soft.

     Jaebum smells cinnamon.

     He runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...cue some angst...
> 
> (By the way, anyone else ridiculously excited for this comeback?!)


	9. Mourning

     Jaebum runs until, between the panic and the franticness, he can’t breathe anymore, and he collapses on a bench in the little park by his apartment.

     He can’t face Jinyoung.  Not yet.  He needs to be more composed for that, because Jinyoung will want to _talk_ , and Jaebum...doesn’t feel like talking.

     Not tonight.

     Not about this.

     So he sits on the little park bench, looking at the trees shedding their leaves, and wonders why it can’t be so easy for humans to just...shed the old and start anew.

     It’s cold, too cold for his green bomber jacket, but it’s quiet.  That’s what matters.  It’s quiet, and the birds that ruffle their feathers in the trees and squirrels that squeak as they run past won’t tell anyone about the tear or two that manages to work its way down Jaebum’s cheeks.  There’s no one out, not this late at night, not when it’s dark but for the light pollution and the lamps that illuminate the pathway and the trees that overlook him like silent sentinels.  For some it might be creepy, eerie, but for Jaebum it’s just some much needed solace and peace.

     It’s quiet, and the chilly air seems to bring some clarity to his thoughts.  It’s easier to breathe here, out in the open where everything doesn’t remind him of something he can’t have.

     He doesn’t know why he thought he could do this.  He thought he could just....keep seeing Jackson, keep talking to Jackson.  As a friend.  He’d wanted to, so desperately, because Jackson had been right when he said it was easy and Jaebum has too few things in his life that are like that.  Just simple.  Just easy.

     It’s always been easy, with Jinyoung.  Easy with Bam, too.  They both get him, understand him, don’t mind it when he’s a bit rough and prickly.  They usually just find ways to make him laugh even harder when he is.

     But Jackson...Jackson didn’t just get him, he _got_ him.

     Maybe it’s because of how the other students Jaebum’s encountered have typically treated him.  Maybe it’s because the alphas that approach him to befriend him tend to either sneer when they discover he’s an omega, try to talk him into a one-night stand, or immediately start attempting to control him and order him around.  Maybe it’s because the only omegas that seem to approach him are the ones who do so thinking he’s an available alpha, and immediately turn away with an apology when they realize he’s not.

     Maybe it’s because Jackson never treated him like an alpha, or an omega, or...anything other than himself.

     Anything other than Jaebum.

     He was just open and honest and charming and _good_ and so, so invested in making sure others were happy.  And Jaebum would love that, would love nothing more than that, if he didn’t _know_ he wanted more.

     Wanted more that he can never, ever have.

     It’s...absurd, really, how attached he’s become.  Already.  But knowing Jackson for a week has felt like knowing Jackson for a lifetime, and while he doesn’t know everything about him - far from it - he still feels like he fundamentally  _knows_ him.

     Maybe Jackson’s just like that though.  Maybe Jackson’s just a flame flickering in the darkness, drawing all towards him, whether they wanted to be or not.

     Jaebum was drawn too.  Jaebum _is_ drawn.

     But if he gets too much closer, he’s going to get burned.  If he gets too much closer, he won’t be able to escape the freefall he knows he’s already began.  He knows he’s on the ledge, staring into the abyss.  Maybe it’s time to step back off the ledge.  If only for self-preservation.

     It wouldn’t work out anyway.  With Jackson.  It wouldn't.

     A part of him wonders if it would be worth it.  Worth it all, worth everything, worth all the pain.  He sometimes thinks it might, in those moments when he thinks only of Jackson's smile and Jackson's laugh and how Jackson's arms feel wrapped around him.  And how Jackson just makes him feel, like he's a flower, just blossoming under the attention and attentiveness and the sheer brilliantness of Jackson's personality.  But then a voice in his head, sounding like some shrill hybrid of his parents, shrieks _only child, only son, your duty, our family, your obligation_ , and any hope that Jaebum has just withers away like the plants dying underneath the cherry blossom tree by the pond.

     It’s not fair.  Not fair, to make his family suffer, when it’s his fault he was born an omega.  It was his fault, so he has to fulfill his duty now.  It’s his only option.

     His only option.

     It still hurts though, feels like a knife in his heart just turning, turning, turning and shredding it all the while.

     It’s good that there’s still a few weeks left until the holidays.  Until he has to go home.  He’ll need the time, he thinks, to...collect himself and re-gather himself.  To convince himself he’s doing the right thing, by putting some distance between him and...yeah.  Distance would be good.  Distance would make it hurt less, maybe make those feelings he can feel gnawing in his gut fade away, so maybe one day, eventually, they can be just friends.

     “-hyung?”

     Just friends.

     The words leave a sour taste in Jaebum’s throat.

     “Jaebum-hyung!”

     He startles then, and his neck feels creaky when his head swivels.

     Bambam’s alpha is there, tall and lean and bundled up in fuzzy pink earmuffs, a thick black jacket, and a matching pink scarf tucked into its collar.  His nose is tinged red under the lights, hair long and black and curling into his eyes, and Jaebum wonders, for a moment, if he’s hallucinating.

     “Hyung?”

     Not hallucinating, clearly.

     His hands are red, too, Jaebum notices, as they seem to stumble over the keys of his phone.  “What’re you doing out here?” Jaebum asks him, chastisement on the tip of his tongue, but the weight of it falters when his voice comes out rough and shaky even to his own ears.  “It’s too cold and late for you to be outside, kid.”

     Yugyeom snorts.  “Says the guy sitting on a park bench in just a bomber at 11 at night, hyung.”  He shoves the phone into the back pocket of his very, very,  _very_ tight jeans - yeah, him and Bambam are definitely suited for each other - before brushing a bit of snow off the bench - when’d it start snowing? - and sitting beside Jaebum.  “Where’ve you been, hyung?  Jinyoung-hyung and Bammie have been looking for you.”

     “I’ve been here.”

     “Okay.  What’ve you been doing here?”

     “Thinking.”

     “Freezing, more like,” Yugyeom says, and he’s shifting to shrug out of his jacket and lay it over Jaebum.  It’s soft, Jaebum thinks idly, and smells somewhat like a summer bonfire and cuts the wind a little.  It’s...not bad.  “Your teeth are chattering, hyung.”

     “Are not.”

     “Are too.  They’re so loud they’re what led me to you.  Just followed the chatters.  You kinda sound like a squirrel.”

     Jaebum just glares at him.

     “You know, that would be a lot more effective if your lips weren’t blue and your nose red, hyung.”

     Jaebum sighs.  He doesn’t know what else to do, really, at this point.

     Either it’s gotten more cold, or the cold is just deciding to sink into Jaebum’s bones, because he starts shivering then.  Just slightly, at first, until it becomes more violent and Yugyeom swears a little before wrapping an arm around Jaebum’s neck and trying to pull him up.  “Come on, hyung.  Let’s get moving a bit, shall we?  Get the blood flowing?”

     Jaebum’s “Language” admonishment would probably be a bit more convincing if his teeth would stop chattering.

     Yugyeom leads him down the path to the main road.  Jaebum’s not sure if he senses that there’s something weighing on his mind, but the kid keeps chattering about the squirrels and the birds and his dance practice and _you should’ve seen the spin I finally managed to pull off, hyung_.  Jaebum doesn’t hate it, even finds himself being a bit grateful because it manages to keep his mind off...things.

     They reach the street just as a white car slams on the brakes in front of them and screeches to a halt.  Its hazards flash red and Jinyoung’s long coat flutters open, as wild as the infuriated concern in his eyes, as he dashes towards them from the driver’s door.

     “Hyung!  Where have you _been_?  We’ve been worried sick!”

     “I’m fine, Jinyoungie.”

     “Fine?   _Fine?_ ” Jinyoung asks, voice incredulous as he lays a gloved hand on either side of Jaebum’s face and his eyes sweep across its planes for any sign of injury or hurt.  Jaebum tries not to think about the hands that had taken their place earlier that evening.  “Your lips are blue, your teeth are chattering, you look like you’re five seconds away from getting frostbite, and - “

     “Jinyoungie.  Please, just...can we just go home?”

     Jaebum hopes that his voice only sounds small to his own ears.  But Jinyoung’s eyes soften, and he murmurs “Let’s go home, hyung,” and the hand on his cheek pats it quickly before dropping to grab onto Jaebum’s.  A hand folds itself into Jaebum’s other, and it’s Bambam there, eyes wide and Jaebum can see the worry and concern pooling in them, and it makes him look so much like a _kid_ , like the kid he is, that Jaebum squeezes his hand as much as his cold-cramped fingers will allow and offers him a tilted smile.

     Jinyoung asks Bammie to text Jackson to let him know Jaebum was safe, and the words have Jaebum tripping, a bit, over a ridge in the pathway.  He knows Jinyoung notices.

     They lead him to the car, sandwiched between them, the freshly fallen snow crunching so _loudly_ under their shoes, and it makes Jaebum feel...broken.  He can feel their eyes on him, continually flickering over to observe him in wary glances, like they keep expecting him to splinter and break apart and shatter into fragments in the air.

     Neither of them ask.

     He’s grateful for that, although he expects it won’t last.

     Jinyoung holds open the back car door, and Jaebum doesn’t even question it, is too _tired_ to question it, when Jinyoung urges him in with a hand on his back.  He’s closing the door, then, climbing into the driver’s seat to turn the heater to full blast and it’s only then that Jaebum realizes just how cold he is.

     Yugyeom crawls into the front seat beside Jinyoung, and Bambam slides in beside Jaebum.  Bambam fastens his own seatbelt, helps click Jaebum’s into place when his stupid cold fingers won’t work properly.

     Bambam doesn’t stop touching him, the entire drive home.  His head stays tilted onto Jaebum’s shoulder, and he’s holding Jaebum’s hand between both of his and his thumb keeps tracing idle patterns.

     It feels like a brand, like a burn.  He isn’t sure whether it’s because his hand is just that cold, or it’s because of the guilt welling in him at making the kid clearly worry.

     The guilt surges again, bubbling like a geyser, when Jinyoung’s pulling up in front of their building and passing the keys over to Yugyeom, and Yugyeom’s climbing out and so is Bambam and Jaebum hears Bambam thanking the alpha profusely before pulling him down into a searing kiss and a quick “Get home safe.”  Jaebum feels guilty, because there’s a bitterness and resentfulness swelling in his gut at the sight of Yugyeom’s cheeks flushing pink and the way he completely envelops Bambam’s slight body in an embrace.

     But Jinyoung pulls him out of the car and out of his bitterness.  It’s enough, enough that Jaebum’s able to manage a mumbled thanks to Yugyeom and a pat on the kid’s shoulder.  Yugyeom watches, arms propped on the roof of his car, as Jaebum’s shepherded into the apartment building, and when Jaebum turns back, he sees the kid offering a meek and slightly shy wave.

     It makes Jaebum smile, even though it feels crackly and crumbly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

     Jinyoung pushes a hot chocolate into his hands and runs him a hot bath, complete with one of Bambam’s treasured bath bombs.  It’s a pretty one, one that has the water swirling with blues and greens and pinks and purples, and it smells like frosting.  It’s one of Bambam’s favourites, the kid tells him, because the colours and the sweet, omega-like scent always relax him, and _would you like to try it, hyung?_ Jaebum can’t refuse, not when Bambam’s still looking at him like he would a scared, wounded animal.

     He’s glad he doesn’t refuse it.  It _is_ nice, and he thinks it may be worth Jinyoung’s teasing to maybe get a few of his own.

     He crawls into bed afterwards, smelling oddly like cake but muscles relaxed and just feeling so, so sleepy.  The hot chocolate and hot water have stripped the chill from his bones, but Jinyoung still brings an extra few blankets with him when he and Bambam file into Jaebum’s room.

     They do this, sometimes.  When one of them has had a particularly bad day.  It hasn’t happened in a while, not since Bambam failed that midterm last term and sobbed through a panic attack on whether he’d fail the class.  Before that, it’d been when Bambam had been enduring that crisis of his, struggling to determine what he wanted to do, what he wanted to be, _what is my_ calling, _hyung_?

     Now that Jaebum thinks about it, most of these sessions have revolved around Bambam.

     It had been Bambam, after all, who had taught Jaebum the wonders and comforts of a solidly constructed nest.  Bambam had thought it sacrilegious that Jaebum, a 20-something omega, had never had a nest before.  Jinyoung’s just happy to oblige and mother them.  So now they lie together, in the darkness of Jaebum’s room, all but drowning in blankets and throw pillows stolen from the living room and Bambam’s apartment.  It’s cozy and warm and smells of Jinyoung and Bambam, and it has something in Jaebum just relaxing and easing out of its knots.

     “Wanna talk about it, hyung?”

     Jinyoung’s voice is deep and soft behind him.  Jaebum’s in the middle - apparently the place of honour to be assumed by whoever’s hurting - and it makes Jaebum twitch a little, because he feels a touch claustrophobic.  Normally he prefers to spoon rather than be spooned, but it’s...okay.

     It’s nice, even, at moments.

     “No.  Not tonight,” Jaebum responds.

     “Okay,” Jinyoung hums, and throws an arm over Jaebum’s stomach.

     “Are you feeling better now, Jaebummie-hyung?”

     It’s one of those rare, rare moments, when the nickname makes Jaebum smile a bit rather than reaching to cuff Bambam.

     Bambam’s playing with one of Jaebum’s hands, twisting it and folding the fingers and grazing his fingertips over the skin.  “I am, Bammie,” Jaebum tells him, because he is.  These are his boys, his _family_ , more of a family than he’s ever had, and he’s...fine.  He’ll be fine, regardless of what happens, if he just has them.  “Thank you.”

     “Anything hurting?”

     “Just my head a bit, Jinyoungie.”

     “Ah, probably from doing all that thinking.  You’re not used to that, are you?”

     Jaebum kicks a foot back.  It connects with Jinyoung’s shin, earning him a hiss from Jinyoung and peals of giggles from Bambam.

     “Want me to get you a painkiller, hyung?”

     “You’d reward him with a painkiller after maiming me, Bammie?”

     “I sure would.”

     “Is that any way to treat your mother?”

     “Want a painkiller, Pops?”

     “Sure, Bammie,” Jaebum replies, and he can’t help the grin.  “Thanks.”

     “Medicine cabinet above the sink.  Two, and a glass of water.”

     “I know, Jinyoungie-hyung!”

     Bambam scrambles from the bed and dashes to the bathroom.

     It’s silent for a moment, as they listen to Bambam humming some obscure tune to himself, listen to the creak of the medicine cabinet on its hinges, listen to the shuffle of pills inside bottles as he searches for the painkillers.

     “He was so worried about you.”

     Jinyoung’s statement makes Jaebum close his eyes against the emotion that wells in his throat.  “I know.”

     “I was too.”

     Jaebum swallows thickly.  “I know.”

     There’s a pause then, one that hangs heavy in the darkness, and Jaebum can almost feel Jinyoung pondering his next words behind him.  “So was Jackson,” he settles on finally, cautiously.  “He called me in a panic because it’d been nearly an hour since you’d left and you hadn’t texted him that you’d gotten home safely.”

     Jaebum doesn’t say anything at that.  Doesn’t know what to say, what to do, other than suck in a deep breath that seems to rattle in his chest.

     Jinyoung just hums, wedges a socked foot in between Jaebum’s and smooths it up and down, up and down.

     Bammie returns then, setting the glass of water on the bedside table to reach out a hand to pull Jaebum up.   Jaebum accepts the pills gratefully, swallows them down with the water and collapses back into the bed.

     Bambam is quick to crawl in, to fit himself into Jaebum’s side, head on his shoulder and skinny legs intertwined with his and hand over Jaebum’s heart.  Jaebum curls the arm that’s under Bambam’s head, just runs his fingers through the younger’s hair, feeling him shake a little before settling and just passing out from the exhaustion of the day.

     Jinyoung grabs Jaebum’s free hand, on the other side, and draws it up to hold it against his own chest.  Their eyes meet when Jaebum turns his head, and the smile Jinyoung offers is small but sweet, the one he reserves for sickness and pain and hurt, and it settles like a weight in Jaebum’s heart.

     Jaebum spends most of the night just...looking at the ceiling.  Bammie’s breaths come out in gentle puffs on his right, and Jinyoung, he knows, tries to stay awake, tries to keep a watchful eye on Jaebum in case he needs anything, but his breaths too eventually even out and grow deeper.

     So Jaebum just stares at the ceiling.  Thinks, and thinks, and thinks, about why some people are allowed to be so happy while others, seemingly, aren’t.  About expectations and fairness and injustice.  About blond hair and hands on his cheeks and eyes on his lips and a kiss on his forehead and a rough hand that just fits in his.  Just fits.  Just right.

     Jaebum’s never been much of a crier, never been overly emotional - especially for an omega - but he cries again that night.  Just a few tears, that run down his temples and that, despite carrying so much pain, don’t seem to make his heart feel any lighter.

     So Jaebum just stares at the ceiling.  Stares until the sun breaks and the birds start to chirp outside his window.

     Stares, trying to think of how to move on from something he never even had to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all for the bit of a filler chapter....Jaebum just needed to decompress a bit.
> 
> Hope you're all doing well, and enjoying GOT7's comeback! I can't stop thinking about that freaking amazing choreo. 😍


	10. Suffering

    The following days, for Jaebum, are miserable.

     Just...miserable.

     Apparently Jinyoung was right - but dear God, don’t tell _him_ that - because Jaebum’s throat is scratchy and there’s a tickle there that just won’t go away, despite his coughing.  He’s drank so much tea with honey to try to soothe it that he feels like more tea runs through his veins now than blood, but it hasn’t made a damn difference.  He keeps alternating between feeling warm and shivering so violently it feels like he’s still sitting on that park bench.

     He knows he’s getting sick, but it’s one of those stupid colds that seems to take forever to actually develop, and it’s frankly driving Jaebum crazy.

     But his body revolting against him isn’t the only reason he feels miserable.  He feels miserable because Jackson keeps texting him.

     When Jaebum manages to drag himself, wearily, from his bed the night after everything just...hits the fan, he sees a litany of texts from Jackson, extending into the previous night.

  

 **Wang-Puppy** \- 10:17 pm

_I’m sorry hyung.  4 whatever I did.  Get home safe. <3_

**Wang-Puppy** \- 10:35 pm

_Hyung?_

**Wang-Puppy** \- 10:39 pm

_Hyung???  Did you get home?_

**Wang-Puppy** \- 10:43 pm

_Please.  Just tell me u got home._

**Wang-Puppy** \- 10:45 pm

_Are u okay?  Do u need someone to come get u?_

**Wang-Puppy** \- 10:47 pm

_It’s starting 2 snow.  I should’ve given u a warmer jacket._

**Wang-Puppy** \- 10:49 pm

_I swear, hyung, if u don’t text me within 1 minute I’m calling Jinyoung-ah._

**Wang-Puppy** \- 11:04 pm

_Bammie just let me know they found you.  I’m glad ur safe, hyung.  Good night. <3_

     There’s another text from him, from that morning. Just a simple, “Good morning, hyung!” with a widely grinning emoji.

     For the first time, Jaebum doesn’t respond.

 

 

 

 

 

 

     He eats breakfast with Jinyoung and Bambam. Jinyoung makes pancakes and just...won’t stop looking at Jaebum.

     He watches him eat, plops another pancake onto his plate even though Jaebum swears he’s full and glares at him until he manages to swallow it down.  He kicks Jaebum’s foot under the table when he goes more than 10 minutes without drinking something, and stares pointedly at the glass of orange juice onto which Jaebum keeps idly tracing patterns with his fingertip until Jaebum rolls his eyes and indulges him.

     Bambam leaves for classes, but not before pulling Jaebum into one of the tightest hugs he’s probably ever gotten, like he’s hoping it’ll help glue Jaebum back together even though he doesn’t know why he’s shattered to begin with.

     Jinyoung leaves too, shortly after that.  He asks if Jaebum’s sure he doesn’t want to chat about anything, and Jaebum tells him that if he does, Jinyoung will be the first to know. It seems to satisfy Jinyoung, just a bit.  What satisfies him more is weaseling the promise out of Jaebum to _eat all of the kimchi I left in the fridge, you hear me, hyung?  And don’t think you can get away with throwing it out either.  I’ll know, hyung.  A mother always knows._

     Honestly, Jaebum wouldn’t doubt it.  Jinyoung seems to have some odd seventh-sense when it comes to Jaebum, and Bambam too, when they don’t do exactly as instructed.

     He eats the kimchi, and tries to ignore the little woof of his phone.

     Which, obviously, goes well.

 

**Wang-Puppy**

_Eat well at lunch today, hyung.  Remember, if u ever want to talk, im here 4 u_

     Jaebum changes the name to Jackson-ssi, and resets the text notification to its default ping.

     He doesn’t respond, even though images of puppy figurines and sitting in a diner, talking about family and expectations and offers to chat about the difficulty of it all, run in circles through his mind all fucking day.

 

 

 

 

 

     He spends the afternoon dreading his upcoming evening class, and reviewing his piece for his production class.

     It’s...terrible.

     It’s not _objectively_ terrible - in fact, Jaebum would probably consider it one of his better pieces thus far.  But it makes him frown because it’s happy and upbeat and cheery and optimistic and just _terrible._

     He starts another one.  It’s slower.  A bit melancholy.  The kind of song that would play in the background of the scene in that rare movie when things _don’t_ have a happy ending, when the couple _doesn’t_ ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.

     It’s more suitable, he thinks.  More realistic.

     Not every story has a happy ending, he thinks. He _knows._ And those that don’t...well, they need music too.

     He goes to delete the other file.  But his cursor hovers over the “Delete” option, and he can’t quite seem to click.  Instead he moves it, creates a file specifically for it that he calls “To Delete Later.”  Out of sight, out of mind.  He can breathe a bit easier now.

     Another text comes that evening, as he’s preparing for his class.

 

**Jackson-ssi**

_Have a great night class, hyung!  Be safe!_

     He doesn’t respond to that either, but on his way to class he sees a kid with blonde hair and he can’t deny that his stomach swoops with disappointment when the kid turns around and it isn’t Jackson.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jackson keeps texting him.  The lack of response doesn’t seem to deter him until he calls Jaebum one night, without warning.

     Jaebum declines the call.

 

**Jackson-ssi**

_Hyung?  What did I do?_

**Jackson-ssi**

_Please tell me.  I’m sorry I’m stupid and can’t figure it out, but I wanna apologize properly for upsetting you_

     There’s a distinct lack of abbreviations that has worry surging in Jaebum’s throat.  It takes him a few minutes, of just solidly staring at his phone, because while he’s trying to distance himself so that he doesn’t get hurt, he also never wanted to hurt _Jackson_. The thought of hurting him, of disappointing him and upsetting him, is a lead stone weighing him down until he decides to respond with shaky fingers.

 

**Jaebum**

_You didn’t upset me, Jackson.  You’re fine._

 

**Jackson-ssi**

_Then y r u ignoring me, hyung?_ :’(

 

     Jaebum can’t lie.  The little emoji has his heart plummeting to somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles.

 

**Jaebum**

_I’m not ignoring you. Just really busy right now_

**Jackson-ssi**

_Phew.  I’m glad. Anything I can help u with?_

     Jaebum lets out a watery laugh at that, because isn’t that exactly what’s gotten him into this mess to begin with?

 

**Jaebum**

_No._

**Jaebum**

_But thanks._

**Jackson-ssi**

_Ok.  I’ll stop bothering u then.  Just lemme know if there’s anything I can do to help._

_You’re not bothering me_ , Jaebum wants to say.  _You never could._

     He can’t say that, though.  So he sends a thumbs up instead.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jackson doesn’t text him any more that week.

     Jaebum feels restless.  He keeps thinking he sees him on campus, and feels absurdly and ridiculously disappointed when it’s not him.  He keeps dreaming, of a head bobbing to a jukebox and hands holding his and hushed late night phone calls.  He keeps dreaming, of the lips against his forehead and almost on his and of a world in which he hadn’t ran.  Or a world in which he had, and he ends up on that park bench looking over and it’s not Yugyeom there, but Jackson, who holds him and warms him and loves him even as the snow falls and the trees go dormant for the winter.

     They don’t stop.  They don’t fucking _stop_ and Jaebum feels like he’s losing his sanity because of it.

     He checks his phone more than he ever has, and every time it reveals no messages there’s something uncomfortable and stormy that swirls in his chest.

     Jinyoung keeps watching him, and it’s unnerving. When Jaebum holes himself in his room for hours on end, under the guise of working or studying - though what he’s mostly doing is moping and thinking - there’s a knock on his door at lunch and dinner and usually a handful of times in between, to urge him to take a break. Most of the time it’s Jinyoung, but others it’s Bambam, conscripted into service on those days Jinyoung is on campus. It’s nice, in a way, that they care enough even without knowing the details of why he’s upset, but it’s also somewhat irritating because he just wants to...be alone.

     Nora won’t leave him alone either.  Where he goes, she does too.  She spends her days snoozing in her little bed by Jaebum’s desk or in the little sliver of sunlight that streams through the trees onto the floor, occasionally cracking an eye to stare at him solidly until she’s content he’s still there and she stretches to return to her dozing.  But when he leaves to the kitchen, she pads behind him silently, eats with him as he sits by the table and her happy little crunches invariably have Jaebum huffing out a laugh.  When he sleeps, she’s there too, curled around his feet or nestled into his chest or suffocating him as she sprawls lazily across his pillow.

     It’s one thing he doesn’t mind.  He loves his baby.

     Still, despite it all - or maybe because of it all - he feels empty.  Empty and disappointed and disoriented, and stupid for feeling that way to begin with.

     He tries to convince himself that the seemingly growing gulf between him and Jackson has nothing to do with it.  That it’s just the remnants of the cold, leaving his body still out of whack.

     He can’t though.  What’s the point, anyway, when it’d be a lie?

 

 

 

 

 

     The next week, there’s a knock on the door. He isn’t sure why he runs to answer it, why he feels the need for urgency, but he does.  

     He finds the hallway empty.  Empty but for a nondescript cardboard box, perched right outside the door.  It doesn’t have a return address, nor a sender listed, and it’s addressed only to “Im Jaebum-hyung.”  It has Jaebum pausing for a minute before taking it inside and opening it because it’s suspicious and weird and frankly somewhat concerning, to receive a hand-delivered package with no return address.

     But it’s not poison.  It’s not a bomb or anything else health-threatening.

     Well...that last part may be debatable.

     It’s a plushy Pokemon inside.  He’s fat, stomach and face beige while the rest is teal, and his eyes are narrow slits.  There are twin moles drawn above its left eye.

     He doesn’t even have to look it up.  He knows what it is.  Knows what it is because Jackson had tapped those twin moles above Jaebum’s own eye and told him that was the only thing that would have to be added.

     He should send it back.  Or throw it out.  Or hide it somewhere, like he did with that stupid file on his laptop, somewhere where it’s out of sight and out of mind until it becomes easier to look at, to think about.

     He sets it on the desk in his bedroom, and spends most of the rest of the day staring, and thinking.  It finds its way into Jaebum’s bed that night, and that’s where it stays.

 

 

 

 

 

 

     Jinyoung will be home soon.

     He usually gets home in about fifteen minutes, and Jaebum hasn’t eaten dinner yet.  Which is problematic, because lately he’s been trying to eat before Jinyoung gets home so he can avoid the stares and judgment and mother-henning and plethora of questions his roommate won’t ask but so desperately wants to.

     It’s 5:46, and Jinyoung usually gets in at 6 at the earliest, so Jaebum...should be safe.

     The click of his bedroom door opening is loud like a gunshot, and the apartment is quiet as he pads down the hall to the kitchen.  He shuffles to the freezer, pulls out an abandoned pizza pocket thing that Bambam had brought over months ago before promptly forgetting about it, and has just thrown it in the microwave when the door opens.

     Jaebum’s stomach plummets, and he feels like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

     He blinks at Jinyoung, who blinks at him, and Bambam, standing behind Jinyoung, blinks at them both.  There’s a pizza box in Jinyoung’s hands, and Jaebum recognizes it as that place he’d been supposed to try with Jackson, and it feels like his heart drops to join his stomach near his feet.

     “Hey, hyung!” Bambam chirps, squeezing his way around Jinyoung to drop his backpack beside the sofa and barrel into Jaebum’s chest. The force of it has Jaebum staggering back a bit, but he just lets the hug happen, even as Jinyoung raises a speculative brow at him from the doorway.  They’ve both observed how Bambam is decidedly more touchy with Jaebum since the park incident, and Jaebum can’t stop feeling shameful about it.  “Good timing, we brought pizza!”

     “I see that.”  And smell that.  It smells good, too good, and Jaebum’s stomach grumbles a bit even as though the rest of him vehemently protests to going within 10 feet of the box.

     But Jinyoung’s approaching him, setting the box down on the kitchen table.  Jaebum can’t seem to stop staring at it, even when Jinyoung comes around to peek in the microwave.  “Finally emerged out of your cave to have some dinner, hyung?  What’re you having?”  He spots the pizza pocket, swirling inside, and the frown that tilts his lips is one of the biggest Jaebum’s ever seen on him.  “Okay, nope, not that.  In fact, let me just...” he trails off then, stops the microwave to remove the still half-frozen pocket and drop it in the garbage can, despite Jaebum’s whine of protest. “Okay, that’s better.  I was having heart palpitations just looking at that...monstrosity.  Here, grab the plates and we’ll eat.”

     Jaebum doesn’t mention his doubts that pizza is much better or healthier than a pizza pocket.  When Jinyoung’s in mother-mode, it’s just easier not to argue.

     “You’re...back early.”

     Jinyoung jumps a little, seemingly startled at Jaebum starting a conversation after days of near radio silence.  “Yeah,” he says finally.  “The class had a test so it let out early.  Now I just have a pile of marking to do, but I’ll take the shorter day.”

     Jaebum just hums, feeling a little lost as he watches Bambam flutter around grabbing plates and napkins and setting them on the table, and Jinyoung as he opens his backpack to organize what Jaebum presumes are said tests.  He has this little filing system thing going on in the cabinet beside the table, and it’s entirely off limits to anyone but Jinyoung because _there’s a system, hyung, you don’t understand and if you so much as lay a finger on it, I’ll feed you to Nora._ He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s still feeling the effects of that night in the park, or whether it’s because he’s been in all but a self-imposed isolation for days, but the burst of activity has Jaebum feeling dizzy and disoriented. 

     Jinyoung notices when he slides uneasily into one of the seats at the kitchen table.  His voice is light, light as to not worry Bambam, but his gaze is sharp on Jaebum when he asks, “You okay there, hyung?" 

     “I’m fine, Nyoung-ah.”

     Jinyoung squints at him, like he doesn’t believe him. He’s been doing that a lot these past days, when Jaebum tells him that yes, he’s fine.  No, nothing happened with Jackson.  Yes, he’s just tired because of school.  No, there’s no reason he’s isolating himself in his room other than him just being busy as hell.

     So Jaebum smiles at him.  But it doesn’t appear with as much strength as he hopes, still faltering around the edges, and Jinyoung, the idiot, _of course_ notices.

     “Just wait,” Jinyoung’s saying, then, reaching a hand towards Jaebum, “you have something in your hair.”  And his hand is sweeping aside the fringe that lays over Jaebum’s forehead to feel the temperature discretely.  Jinyoung tsks, shaking his head a little.  “You’re warm,” he murmurs, concern in his eyes deepening and looking like he just wants to roll Jaebum in bubble wrap and deposit him in his room for the rest of the week.  “Warmer than you were when I checked this morning.”

     Which is...interesting, because Jaebum doesn’t remember Jinyoung checking his temperature this morning.

     “Have you been sneaking into my room?”

     “Of course not,” Jinyoung replies breezily, which means, in Jinyoung-speak, _yep._ He moves to open the pizza and although it does look _good_ , Jaebum’s stomach rolls at the smell. 

     Bambam’s sliding into the seat beside Jaebum, smile bright and cheerful but something hesitant lurking in his eyes that has Jaebum directing an inquisitive glance at Jinyoung, who just replies with a slight shrug. “How was your day, Jaebum-hyung?”

     “Ah, fine,” he replies, trying not to be worried. If it was something bad, they’d know it. Right?  Bambam would tell them immediately?  “Just doing some mind-numbing studying.”  Bam just hums at that, pouting a little in sympathy.  “Do you have many final assignments left?”

     “Mm not many.  Mostly just finals.  So I’ve been helping Yuggie with his choreography for his dance class!  Well, not really helping, but watching and giving him the odd suggestion.  Like to put in more body rolls, because you can never have enough of those.”

     “Never,” Jinyoung supplies with a smirk as he slides into the seat across from them. 

     “I don’t mind it, really.  He’s hot when he dances, so.  Win-win for all involved.”  Jaebum snorts at that, and Jinyoung just gives Bam that “I’m-done-with-you-peasants” stare he’s honed to perfection.  Bam doesn’t pay it any mind - he’s too busy shoving a slice of pizza onto Jaebum’s plate, another onto his own, and leaving Jinyoung hanging with his plate outstretched and a frown on his face.  “What about you, Jinyoungie-hyung?  Are you suffering along with your students, or having all the fun they can’t?”

     Jinyoung snorts as he grabs his own slice. “Please, I’m a senior.  Like I’d be doing anything _other_ than suffering.”

     Jaebum can’t really argue with that one.

     It’s...nice.  Just the three of them.  Just him, his best friend, and the kid they’ve pretty much adopted as their child even though he’s really just a handful of years younger than him.  It has the somewhat empty feeling in his chest dissipating, filling a bit with love and contentment and fondness.

     “So hyungs, I...had something to ask you.”

     Bam’s voice is quiet - which in itself is odd - and the way he’s fiddling and toying with the pizza on his plate rather than actually _eating it_ has something sinking in Jaebum’s stomach.  He steals another look at Jinyoung then, finds his jaw tense in the way it gets when he’s consciously trying not to frown and his eyes a little tight and reflecting the same concern Jaebum feels tumbling inside him. 

     So Jaebum just drops a hand on Bambam’s thigh to soothe his restlessly bouncing leg.  “Please tell me you’re not pregnant,” Jaebum says, trying to keep his voice level even though he’s panicking.  A little.  “I’m not ready to be a grandfather yet.”

     Bam’s leg stills then.  The rest of him does too, after his eyes whip to meet Jaebum’s, comically wide, with enough force that Jaebum’s a tad concerned for his neck. “No!” he shrieks, colour draining from his face and seemingly migrating to his ears, which flush a bright red. “I’m not...no.  No, nope, nada.  None of that for me, at least for a while.  Like a...really long while.”

     Jaebum lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and Jinyoung seems to as well, even as he disguises it with a cough. “That’s...good,” Jinyoung finally says, voice a bit croaky with discomfort.  “I’m glad to hear that.  Although you know we’d...support you.  If that was the case.  Right?”

     “Oh my God, hyung,” Bambam whines, burrowing his face in his hands, and it makes Jaebum smirk a bit, because there are so few things in this world that embarrass Bambam and it’s his distinct honour to have found _one_ of them.  Jinyoung seems to agree with that sentiment, because his grin is wolfish and frankly _terrifying_ when he bumps his ankle against Jaebum’s under the table.  “Just...no.  I wanted to ask you if you’d come to a party next week.  Pretty please.  For emotional support.”

     Jaebum’s eyebrow feels like it automatically inches itself up his forehead, because he’s learned that “Bambam” and “partying” are pretty much synonymous so the way the kid’s leg _keeps fucking bouncing_ and his skinny ass fingers keep drumming against the table is just....weird.  “Since when do you need emotional support for a party?”

     “I don’t....I don’t need emotional support for the _party._ It’s for...what’s going to happen at the party.  Well, what I hope will happen.  At the party.  Next week.”

     “Kunpimook Bhuwakul,” Jinyoung starts, voice dangerously low with a hint of exasperation, “if this is another of your attempts to coerce either of us into a threesome with you and your boy-toy, _so help me G -_ “

     Bambam screeches in protest, and Jaebum snorts a little at how his foot quite evidently stomps underneath the table. It’s kind of cute, how flustered he’s getting, ears and neck flushed a shade of red so deep that Jaebum’s not sure he’s ever actually seen it before on a human being.  But Jaebum also takes pity on the kid, because whatever this is, it’s clearly _important_ , and Jinyoung - whose ruthlessness in teasing is unmatched on the best of days - sure isn’t helping him.  So he lays a hand on the back of Bambam’s neck, rubbing a bit at the tension there. “When and where is this party, Bam?”

     Bam stares at him, eyes wide with desperation and just a hint of hysteria, before he’s crumbling into Jaebum’s side, tucking himself into his armpit and shoving his face into his neck.  It makes Jinyoung coo a little, and has something warm and fuzzy spreading in Jaebum’s chest.  “Next Friday,” Bam mumbles, voice muffled into the collar of Jaebum’s shirt. “Yuggie wanted to do it earlier, but I figured Friday might be better when people have stupid tests and assignments.”

     It might be a little mean of him, but Jaebum thinks it’s a terrifying world when Bambam is the more rational partner in a relationship.  Instead of saying that, though, he just praises Bam since “That’s very considerate of you.”  It has Bambam wilting more into Jaebum’s side and taking another pouty bite of his pizza. “I’m sure we can both manage to spare a few hours for that, right Jinyoungie?”

     Jaebum can see the wheels all but turning in Jinyoung’s head, sees them turning around  _assignments_ and _upcoming finals_ and _auditions_ and _job scoping for after graduation_ and Jaebum gets it.  He really does.  Because the same assignments and upcoming finals are swirling around in his own head, fermenting with his insistent urge to just keep holing himself up in his room because it’s easier to keep his mind off...things when he keeps it busy with the mountains of school work he has anyway.  But this is Bam, and Bam’s asking, and if he’s asking that means it’s important.

     Family first, and all that.

     And Jinyoung must agree, because he offers Bambam a gentle “Sure we can, Bammie,” and his smile carries all the fondness Jinyoung has but so often disguises under teasing words and smirks.  “Now, you want to tell us what it is about this party that has you all worked up?”

     Bambam shudders a bit against Jaebum, and it has Jaebum squeezing his shoulder and rubbing up and down his arm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture as worry blooms in his gut.  “Youngjae-hyung...he has a showcase next week, right?  Next Friday, before the party.  So I’m throwing him a party to congratulate him and to...so Yuggie and I...so we can ask him to...join us?  Date us?  Whatever. That.”

     There’s a moment of silence then.  In which Jaebum and Jinyoung just unanimously stare, a little stunned, at Bambam, and the kid unhappily munches on his pizza crust. But then Jinyoung’s eyes are turning a little misty, and _damn it_ , Jaebum can feel something welling in his throat which might be indigestion but is probably emotion ( _DAMN IT_ ), and Jinyoung’s standing up to round the table and pull Bambam’s head into his stomach and...cradle it there. It looks kind of odd, and a bit uncomfortable, so Jaebum just pats awkwardly at Bambam’s back as Jinyoung wails about his baby growing up so fast.

     Then Bambam’s groaning about not being able to breathe, so Jinyoung - with more reluctance than he probably intends to show - releases him in favour of pressing a loud, sloppy kiss to his forehead that has Bambam whining as he wipes the spit off with the sleeve of his shirt.

     But his smile is wide and bright and happy, and it has Jaebum’s heart swelling and his arms twitching with the urge to pull the kid in close.

     “I...don’t even know what he’ll say,” Bambam admits quietly, as the smile dims.  “I don’t even really know if he likes us?  I mean, I _think_ he does, but...” 

     Jaebum’s mind flashes back to a kid with long blond hair and a smile sunny enough to power a small city and a blush dusting his full cheeks at the mention of Bambam, and yeah, Jaebum thinks he does too.

     Jaebum only realizes he’d spoken that aloud when Bambam turns to him again, eyes wide and breath stuttering and pointer finger proceeding to _tap, tap, tap_ on the table. “You what?  Why do you think that?  Oh my God, hyung, did he _talk_ about me to you?”

     “Wait, I’m sorry, you’ve met Youngjae?” Jinyoung interrupts, eyes narrowing at Jaebum in a way that clearly reads _traitor_ and  _you absolute twit, why didn’t you tell me this?!_ “When did you meet Youngjae, and why didn’t you tell me?”

     “It was just...briefly,” Jaebum mutters, trying not to visibly shrink back at the force of Jinyoung’s glare.  “And he mentioned you, Bam, about being in class with you.”

     Bambam seems to experience twelve different emotions in the span of a few seconds, before his face finally settles on something that looks akin to awe.  “Okay,” he breathes.  “I...okay.”

     “But if he doesn’t...agree,” Jaebum starts, “we’re here, okay?”

     “To help you through it,” Jinyoung clarifies. “Not for a threesome.”

      Bambam visibly cheers up at that, nodding exuberantly, and it’s like a light switch being turned on, the way he nearly immediately reverts back to his bubbly and loud and outgoing self.  He keeps excitedly chatting, talking about Youngjae and how he’s such a phenomenal singer and how _he invited Yuggie and I to his showcase, that’s gotta mean something, right, hyungs?_ And his leg is still bobbing underneath the table - despite Jaebum’s efforts to still it with his hand on his thigh - and he keeps playing with his pizza more than eating it, but he looks...excited now, rather than nervous, and Jaebum feels he’s done something right.

     A rare feeling, these days.

     Jaebum’s happy for him.  He is.  He knows, just feels, deep in his gut, that Youngjae will say yes, that Youngjae will agree, because Bam is lovable like that and draws people in like he has his own personal forcefield that’s just impossible for people to ignore.  Once you get past the attitude and the annoyingly long legs and the plethora of accessories sometimes off-putting in their blinding nature, Bambam’s charming with his sometimes broken Korean and excessive energy and too-frequent snark and witty comebacks.  He’s just....irritatingly  _lovable._ And it’s so reminiscent of -

     Anyway, he knows Youngjae will agree.  The way he’d blushed at the mention of Bambam was fair evidence of that.  It’s a safe bet, a solid one.  And Jaebum’s happy for Bam, happy that he seems to have found their missing piece.

     But just above the happiness, something dark tightens in Jaebum’s chest.

     Jaebum hates it, tries to ignore it to listen to Bambam gush about who will - hopefully - become his boyfriend next week, but that something is dark and frustrated and _angry_ and bitter.  Because not only will Bambam have one person who loves him and accepts him and treasures him, but probably _two_ and Jaebum...

     Jaebum isn’t even allowed to have one.

     And it’s selfish.  It’s so, so selfish, for him to be spiteful about that.  It’s selfish because Bambam’s like some hybrid between his brother and his child and he deserves to be happy.  And him and Yugyeom have been looking so long, _so long_ , for someone to fit into that gap in their relationship, to make them whole.

     It’s selfish, and Jaebum hates it.  With a fire that burns deep in his stomach, because sure, Jaebum can be easy to rile, and hot-tempered, and stubborn, and maybe a bit defensive, but he’s never thought of himself as selfish.

     But still, the resentment burns, little embers in the pit of his stomach that flare into open flames every time he glances over and sees the fondness in Bambam’s eyes when he speaks of either Yugyeom or Youngjae, feels the table quiver a little with the force of his excited leg-bobbing.

     And with the resentment comes the guilt.  The shame.

     Again.

     And Jaebum’s tired.  Just...tired.  Of feeling bitter towards his friends.  Of feeling guilty for feeling bitter.  Of being happier in his dreams than he is in his life, and of wanting something that it seems only others are allowed to have. 

     But him wanting that, at the expense of his parents’ wishes, is selfish too.

     That night, after Bambam leaves and Jinyoung forces some medication into him to help with Jaebum’s apparent fever, Jaebum lays in his bed, Nora curled by his feet and a stupid plushie with two hand-drawn moles clutched tight to his chest.  He dreams, and it’s the same dream he’s had too often these past nights.  Of a park bench and falling snow and Jackson there, achingly beautiful, as the shadows cast over his face and he reaches out a hand to Jaebum.

     Jaebum, for the first time, takes it.

     Yep.

     Selfish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support with this. It truly means so much to me.
> 
> Coming up next week: Jaebum has an interesting encounter with Jackson. Uh oh.


	11. Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is a scene here including attempted sexual assault, as well as some violence, but nothing graphic.

     Jaebum just...isn’t feeling well.

     He’s seriously regretting sitting on that stupid park bench in the stupid snow in his stupid bomber, because when he wakes up, his throat is scratchy and he can’t stop shivering, despite the two extra blankets he’d fished out of his closet during the night to quell the chattering of his teeth.

     He shouldn’t go to class, not like this.  He’s clearly coming down with something and shouldn’t be that asshole who spreads it to other students and subsequently takes down half the student body with him.  Even if he _was_ vindictive like that - which is more Jinyoung’s speed, honestly - he kind of just...doesn’t want to move.  He knows he won’t be happy or comfortable today regardless of what he does, but he’s infinitely certain that he’ll be _more_ happy and _more_ comfortable if he stays home and encases himself in a blanket burrito and whines and pouts at Jinyoung to make him some soup before he leaves for his classes.

     But at the same time, it’s in the last weeks of classes, and if there’s one thing he can’t afford, it’s to miss classes this late in the term. 

     He immediately regrets his decision when his knees buckle as he finally manages to crawl out of bed, and the world spins and tilts like he’s on an acid trip or on a roller coaster.  Or both, at the same time.  It sure feels like both. 

     Just imagining it has his stomach rolling, so he tries to blank his mind and stumble to the shower.

     It’s embarrassing, but his legs seem to adopt the consistency of jello as he tries to shimmy out of his pajama pants, so he spends about three minutes, stark naked in front of the mirror, knuckles white as he grasps the edge of the sink and just...tries to settle himself.  He looks dead, he realizes abruptly, eyes bloodshot and face pale and cheeks gaunt and lips looking purple.  It just _sucks_ , because even though he certainly isn’t the most vain person out of his friend group - pretty impossible to be, when Bambam’s your competition - even he thinks it’s supremely unfair that when you _feel_ like your dying, you have to look like it too.

     He almost slips in the shower - twice, but who’s counting - and the speed of his life flashing before his eyes each time has him bracing his hands on his knees as he fights the nausea and dizziness. The water’s hot, hotter than it should be probably and will likely mean Jinyoung has to suffer through a cold shower - ha - but it makes Jaebum feel marginally more alive.

     Just marginally, though.

     He’s tempted to just crawl into a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, but he struggles his way into his usual jeans and dress shirt, hoping that the formality of the outfit and the way it would typically boost his confidence will make him feel more alert and coherent.  It doesn’t, of course, especially since he has to layer the shirt over another t-shirt and sleeveless shirt to quell the shivering a little.  He can’t be bothered to fight with his hair, so he just leaves it be, tries to coerce a promise out of it to cooperate for once in its life.  He may be just a smidgen delusional...blame it on the fever.

     When he trips over his own feet as he tries to procure some cereal, Jinyoung - bless him - catches him.

     His face is the picture of concern - Jaebum’s half convinced that if you looked up a picture of Florence Nightingale, you’d encounter _this_ face, right here - eyebrows drawn in and frown tipping his lips.  The frown just deepens as he grasps Jaebum’s arms to hold him still as he runs his gaze up and down Jaebum’s frame.

     “Are you finally sick?  You look sick.”

     “What, I don’t even get a good morning?” 

     Jinyoung just raises a brow at Jaebum’s grumbling, voice hoarse and sounding like he’s swallowed a dozen razors.  “Good morning, are you sick?”

     “No,” Jaebum replies, just to be difficult.  And petulant.  But then he remembers his plans to coerce Jinyoung into making him soup, into making him baby him a little - Jinyoung’s so _good_ at that - and he revises his answer.  “Maybe.  Probably.”

     Jinyoung clicks his tongue a bit, bringing a hand to Jaebum’s forehead.  It’s _cool_ , and Jaebum can’t help but close his eyes and lean into it.  “You’re burning up.”

     “Not my fault I’m so hot.” 

     “Yep, you’re definitely sick.  Sit down, I’ll get you some toast.”

     Jaebum whines, maybe stomps his foot a little.

     “Don’t give me that,” Jinyoung says breezily, moving to pop a piece of bread in the toaster.  “You’re getting toast, and that’s final.  Nothing heavier until you stop looking like you’re about to decorate your socks with some lovely chunks of vomit.”

     Jaebum still pouts.  But as his stomach churns, he figures maybe, maybe - for once in the stupid lug’s life - Jinyoung might have a point.  So he shuffles over to half sit, half fall onto one of the kitchen chairs.

     “You shouldn’t even be going to class today,” Jinyoung tells him, placing a mug of what looks like green tea in front of Jaebum, who takes a sip and promptly whines because it tastes like _weeds._ Jinyoung’s eyes roll so far back in his head that it leaves Jaebum momentarily concerned until the bitterness of the tea hits him and has him gagging a little overdramatically.  “Stop whining and drink the damn tea.” 

     “I know I shouldn’t,” Jaebum groans, curling over to rest his head on the table.  “But it’s an important lecture and I shouldn’t miss it.”

     “You can’t get the notes from someone?”

     “I don’t _know_ anyone,” Jaebum wails.

     Jinyoung says something under his breath, something that sounds a little bit like “Hermit,” but Jaebum can’t be sure.  It’s hard to be sure of much, when he’s too busy listening to his body ache and complain.

     “It’s just an hour, right?  You’ll be fine.  But text me when you get there and get home, okay?”

     “Yes, mom.”

     Jinyoung cuffs him gently on the back of the head before he sets the plated toast in front of Jaebum’s face, nudges it towards him so it knocks his nose where it’s smushed against the table.  “Don’t," Jaebum mutters.  "You’re abusing me.”

     Jinyoung scoffs, and Jaebum imagines that it comes with another one of his patented eye rolls.  “I just made you toast, you ass.  Now be a good boy and eat it so I don’t have to worry about you passing out on the way to class, hmm?”

     Jaebum raises his head at that, and even though it makes it spin, the burst of satisfaction he gets from leveling that glare at Jinyoung makes it somewhat worth it.  “Watch it, brat.  I’m your hyung.”

     “Then act like it,” Jinyoung retorts as he slips into his jacket and throws his messenger bag over one shoulder.  He pauses at the door, just stares at his boots for a moment, before he’s moving back to Jaebum and pressing his lips briefly to his hair as his hand runs across his back.  “Feel better, okay?” he murmurs, grasping Jaebum’s chin in one hand to force him to look at him when he doesn’t get an answer.   “And text me if you need anything.”

     He flutters away, sliding into his boots and out the door.

     Jaebum keeps pouting for a solid minute, still feeling a little indignation.  He takes a bite of the now cold toast, and pouts some more.  Then there’s a meek little meow by his feet, and he glances down to see Nora, gazing up at him balefully with wide eyes.  With his foot he nudges the chair beside him out from underneath the table, coos at her when she hops up.  “There’s a good girl,” he hums, stroking a hand behind her ears, ignoring how he sees it shake.  “I won’t tell Jinyoungie you’re at the table if you don’t.  He’s just a big meanie, isn’t he?  Hmm?  Just a big old meanie?”

     Nora purrs in agreement, a little rumble as she nudges her head against Jaebum’s palm for more pets.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jinyoung is definitely a meanie, Jaebum realizes again, when he finally texts him when he gets to class.

     The response he gets is a simple “Congrats on not dying!” and it makes Jaebum want to throw his phone, because although he might not have died, he sure as hell feels like he’d come close.

     He’d hoped that being outside, in the cool and fresh air, would have helped a little.  Instead, his walk to class - already decently long at a solid 20 minutes, because the building’s on the other side of campus - takes longer than usual, and in addition to leaving Jaebum out of breath and feeling like he can barely drag one foot past the other, it makes him _late_.  He hates being late because it means that the lecture’s already started by the time he arrives and he can feel his classmates’ eyes boring into him and his professor’s disdain as he slips into one of the only empty seats left towards the front of the auditorium.

     Moving around and walking had, admittedly, eased the cramping of his stomach a little, but five minutes into sitting Jaebum’s having to consistently and restlessly shift in his seat because it _hurts._ If he were anywhere else, he’d be folded over, hands over his stomach to breathe and groan through the lightheadedness and the pain, but he’s in _class_ , in the _front row_ , and he has to at least  _try_ to maintain a semblance of concentration and focus when his professor keeps shooting him dirty looks.

     Needless to say, it’s futile.

     He keeps shifting, trying to find a position that’s comfortable, but _oh god, it just hurts everywhere, all the time, without fail._ He’d been cold this morning, but now he’s _hot_ , feels like he’s burning up, feels a bead of sweat run down his back, and he pulls on the collar of his sweatshirt a bit because it feels like it’s choking him.

     It’s even worse when the girl beside him starts to shift in her seat.  He goes to shoot her an apologetic smile for being so disruptive, but when he glances at her she’s holding a finger in front of her nose and has angled her body as far away from him as she possibly can.  It has anger swelling in Jaebum’s stomach because _excuse fucking me,_ until he shifts again and smells -

     Oh god.

_Oh god._

     He smells _himself._

     It’s sweet and sugary and vanilla-y, and Jaebum _knows_ what it means.

     He looks around.  Sees that, in addition to the girl beside him, there’s a kid in front of him and a couple behind him who are similarly trying to - albeit discretely - cover their noses, and there are a few kids on the other side of the aisle that keep looking at him in a way that has a shiver skittering down his spine.

     He needs to get _out._

     It doesn’t matter that he needs the notes, and doesn’t know anyone to get them from.  He needs to _leave._

     He scrambles - as quietly as he can to not draw any more attention to himself, because he’s embarrassed and mortified enough as it is - to toss his notebook in his backpack, throw his pencil in somewhere alongside it, and fumble to draw the zipper up before his chair pushes back with a screech.

     Jaebum winces, because the sound draws another few pairs of eyes and the professor’s looking at him like he wants to expel him from class.  When Jaebum stands up, the cool air hits the back of his jeans and he can feel the _wet._ It has the flush rushing up his cheeks even as he bolts from the room, only pausing for a hasty moment at the door to bow to the professor before running into the hall.

     He collapses on the bench outside the classroom.  He’s so _dizzy_ , and hot and his breath keeps coming in angry little pants and his body feels like it’s been flooded with fire ants.  There’s a girl down the hall who glances at him with concern before she slips into one of the offices.

     Jaebum almost drops his phone as he pulls it from his pocket.  His hands are shaking, and his fingers feel locked and his eyes won’t focus, so he accidentally dials a kid from his first year music theory class who he’d done an assignment with once when he tries to ring Jinyoung.

     Jinyoung doesn’t answer.

     Neither does Bambam.

     He can feel himself start to panic, can feel how his lungs can’t seem to draw in enough air and how the walls of the hallway seem to be closing in him on.  It makes Jaebum feel kind of stupid and _weak_ , because he’s a grown ass man who can fend for himself and takes _pride_ in being able to fend for himself, but then he remembers what had happened to that poor omega kid a few terms ago when he’d been jumped on campus after a night class as he was going into his heat and -

     As he’s shakily scrolling through his contacts, the name “Jackson-ssi” gives him pause.

     He shouldn’t.  He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t.  Come _on,_ Im -

     He presses.

     Apparently the universe isn’t _entirely_ conspiring against him - or, maybe it is - because Jackson picks up on the third ring.  “Hyung!” he greets, voice trailing off on a sigh of relief.  “I’m so glad to finally hear from you, I - " 

     “Jackson.”

    Normally he’d feel bad about interrupting Jackson.  Normally he might take a moment, to relish in the little butterflies that feel like they’re swirling in his chest at the sound of Jackson’s voice.  But he’s having to grit his teeth together to bite back a moan and his stomach is cramping so badly it feels like there’re _knives_ embedded in it and he just really, _really_ , needs to get home.

     “Jaebum-hyung?   What’s wrong?  Are you okay?”

     It’s weird, because there’s panic dripping from the edges of Jackson’s tone, yet Jaebum finds his voice just so, so soothing.  It calms him, centers him, a much-needed anchor in a stormy, tumultuous sea.

     “I need...Can you come get me?  Please?  I need...” There’s a wave of pain then, flooding and making his brain go hazy before it leaves an equally disorienting arousal in its wake.  Jaebum leans his head against the cement wall, turns so his temple lays on it and it’s _cool_ and has him feeling marginally better.  “I need to go home.”

     “I....sure, hyung, yeah, of course.  Are you okay?”

     Jackson’s an angel.  An absolute fucking angel, because Jaebum can _hear_ the rustling of keys and the hasty slam of a door as Jackson leaves his apartment.  “I’m...yeah. I think...I think I’m going into heat.”

     Jaebum can hear Jackson’s sharp intake of breath through the line, followed by his low curse and the sound of a car igniting.  “Oh.  Oh okay.  Shit.  I’m coming, alright?  Where are you?”

     “The Arts Building.  In the hallway because I just...had to get out.”

     “Okay, I’m on my way.  Is there an empty classroom you can make it into before classes get out?”

     Shit.  Yeah, he should’ve thought of that, instead of lurking in the hallway like an _idiot_ \- “I...I’ll look.  There should be.”

     “Okay.  Okay, good. Can you look now?”

     Jaebum pushes himself upright with a groan that has Jackson’s panicked “Hyung?” filtering down the line.

     “’m fine.  Just getting up to look.”  He tries five doorknobs, cursing when he finds them locked, until he tries the door of a small seminar room and it swings open beneath his fingers.  He releases a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  “Found one,” he tells Jackson, slipping inside.  The lock seems to be broken, which is...definitely not ideal, but the sound of a door opening and a rush of students down the hall have Jaebum hastily closing the door behind him, keeping the lights off.  “It’s 204, on the second floor.”

     “Okay, good.  Just sit tight, alright?  I’m almost there.”

     “Yeah,” Jaebum says as he collapses on one of the chairs along the far wall, out of sight of the window cut into the door.  He feels like he’s on fire, and he can’t _breathe_ , and his palms are so clammy and shaky that his grip on the phone keeps slipping.  More classes seem to be letting out, and he can hear the students in the hallway, and every shadow that passes by has something in Jaebum seizing a little until it passes into silence.

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum’s not sure if he passes out, or just blanks out, because the next thing he knows, he’s startling at the sound of a creak as the classroom door opens.  A figure steps in, tall and burly and thick, but their face is hidden in the shadows of the darkness until the light flickers on and -

     “Hey, Im.”

     It’s not Jackson.

     It’s  _decidedly_ not Jackson, because this is one of the kids from his class, who’d been staring at him as he’d fled the room.  Jaebum’s never liked him.  He’s always seemed superbly arrogant and egocentric and just a tremendous pain in the ass, always talking about how wealthy his CEO parents were and insisting everyone call him by his English name, David, because his Korean name wasn’t as “sophisticated.”  And as he steps in, two figures flank him, and Jaebum recognizes them immediately as the two kids who _always_ flank him as he bullies first years and badmouths professors and harasses omegas.

     Something sharp and unnerving shoots up Jaebum’s spine, makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

     “You know, I never knew you were just an omega,” David says, eyes glinting with something Jaebum can only describe as _mean_ as his mouth curves into a sinister slash across his face.  “I always thought you were one of us.”

     Shakily, Jaebum rises to his feet, straightens his back and broadens his shoulders.  It takes more effort than he’d like to admit, to hide the whimper and wince at the pain it causes.  “What do you want?”

     “It’s really not fair of you to do that, Im.  To walk around pretending to be such a strong and steady alpha when you’re only just a wimpy, measly omega.”

     The growl rips from Jaebum’s chest even as his blood seems to run cold, and though David’s companions both still, falter a bit at the aggression, David’s smirk just sharpens and his voice deepens.  “But maybe...maybe that’ll make things more interesting.  Will it, Im?  Will you put up a fight for us and make us work for it, hmm?  Ooh, you probably _want_ us to work for it.  You probably get all hot and bothered at the thought of playing hard to get, don’t you?”

     He keeps approaching, and the desk still separates them, but it won’t, not for long.  Jaebum considers retreating, but the two other alphas are blocking the doorway and if he tried to put more distance between them, there’s a very real possibility that David would be able to literally corner him.  So Jaebum plants his feet, shifts his stance a bit and starts stretching his fingers.

     “You want it, don’t you, Im?”  David stops on the other side of the desk, close enough that Jaebum can smell the alpha pheromones despite the scent blockers.  Part of the omega in him has his knees on the verge of buckling and his head aching to tilt to expose his neck.  The more dominant part has Jaebum’s eyes shifting green and his teeth baring in a snarl as his fingers curl into fists.  “Why else would you stay here, hmm?  In a dark little room without a lock?  I think you knew we could smell you, smell your _heat_ and _slick_ and stayed here in the hopes we’d find you so we could have a little fun.  I’m right, aren’t I, Im?”

     “Get the hell away from me.”

     It’s been a while, a while since Jaebum’s term of boxing lessons, but he remembers enough.  If he can manage to shrug out of his backpack, he can throw it at him, stun him a bit to buy a little time to hop over the desk and -

     “You don’t have to keep playing hard to get, baby.  The ruse is over.  So just relax and be a good little omega, yeah?”

     David pounces.

     He fists a hand in the front of Jaebum’s shirt, starts to draw him close and Jaebum slams his left hand into the face that approaches his own.  David reels a bit, but not enough, so Jaebum’s other fist hits him _hard_ in the mouth.

     David crumples then, and Jaebum vaults over the desk and has almost made it to the door, growling and snapping his teeth at the two alphas stationed there who hasten to move out of his way.  But then there are hands grabbing at his leg and he trips, tumbling to the floor and having the breath knocked from his lungs and his omega _panics, panics, panics_.  He manages to roll to the side to avoid the body that tries to descend onto his, but before he can scramble to his feet there are hands cuffing around his own to restrain them and a weight shifting to cover his body.

     Jaebum pushes his head up, slamming his forehead into the asshole’s nose.  He’s still a dead weight on top of him, though, so Jaebum keeps bringing his knees up, and one finally _connects_ , landing solidly in a groin and -  

     The door slams open.

     Jaebum doesn’t turn to look. He’s too busy snarling and snapping at the alpha who’s suddenly raised by a hand in his collar and dropped immediately by a fist that finds its home solidly in his nose.

     It’s Jackson, Jackson standing there like an absolute fucking angel, and Jaebum doesn’t know if he’s ever experienced the odd mixture of intense relief and immense _arousal_ at the sight of him, blond hair slightly askew and one half of his blue dress shirt untucked and face ablaze with anger.

     Jaebum must be delusional, because Jackson’s eyes seem to flicker red, _alpha_ red, in the darkness of the room, and the hallucination has Jaebum’s head twitching just a bit with the need to expose his neck.

     Jaebum glances at David, feels the breath leave him in a quick relieved whoosh when he sees him dazed on the ground, holding a hand to a nose that gushes red as he moans and groans.  Then another hand enters Jaebum’s vision, and it’s Jackson’s, _of course_ , it’s Jackson’s.  He stands there, eyes bleeding concern and looking very, _very_ unhappy and distressed.

     Jaebum grabs his hand.  It’s rough and warm as it hauls him to his feet.

     “You okay?” Jackson asks him, and those warm hands come to rest on either side of Jaebum’s face.  Jaebum just reaches up, wraps his own palms around the wrists, uses the heartbeat he feels _beating, beating, beating_ there to centre and ground himself.

     “I’m okay.”

     He is.

     Jackson just keeps looking at him for a moment, eyes scanning and scanning and scanning, until they shift, looking for something before he steps away and leaves Jaebum trying not to mourn the loss of contact.  Jackson steps over David’s body, still lying prone on the floor in a pile of moans, and bends to grab Jaebum’s phone on the floor beside the chair.

     Jaebum notices, distantly, that it’s still on the line with Jackson.

     Jackson steps over the body again and this time turns to face it.  One foot nudges at David’s side, none too gently.  “Listen here,” Jackson growls, and the roughness of his voice has Jaebum’s stomach tightening.  “Jaebum was on the line with me the entire time, and guess what?  I heard everything you said, you piece of shit, and I recorded the call.  There’s also a security camera in the hallway, pointing directly into this room, and I bet you there’s enough light from the hallway to capture _exactly_ what went on in here.  I suggest you keep that in mind, because we sure as hell will.”

     Jackson grabs his hand then, all but drags him through the door, past the two stunned alphas who just bow to them as they pass, and out of the building.

     The air is blessedly cool.  Neither of them speak until they reach a beat up old black four-door, and Jackson just pulls Jaebum into his chest.  “Holy fuck,” he rumbles into Jaebum’s neck, as he noses his scent gland.

     Jaebum....Jaebum can’t argue with that.

     Holy fuck indeed.

     Jaebum can feel Jackson shaking, so he brings a hand to the back of Jackson’s neck and squeezes.  Jackson’s trembles subside slightly.

     Jackson withdraws after another few minutes, and his eyes scan over Jaebum’s face again.  “You sure you’re okay?  He didn’t...he didn’t touch you, did he?”

     “No.  He didn’t.  I fought him off.”

     “I know you did,” Jackson says, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.  “I pity any fool who thinks an omega can’t take care of themselves.”  He reaches for Jaebum’s hands then, eyes dropping to them and tension in his face deepening when he sees the knuckles on Jaebum’s hand, torn and bruised.  “You’re bleeding.”

     Jaebum hadn’t noticed, but now that his attention has been drawn to it, he can feel the throbbing and aching emanating from his knuckles.  “I punched him.” 

     Jackson’s lip curls.  “I hope you broke his face.”

     Jaebum can’t help himself.  He laughs.

     Jackson seems to startle a bit, eyes flickering up to meet Jaebum’s for a few moments before something like pride settles within them.  But maybe that’s just Jaebum’s wishful thinking.  Jackson squeezes his hands again, gently and mindful of his bruised knuckles.  “Let’s get you home.”

     Jaebum nods. There must be something wrong with him, he thinks, because despite what just happened, despite the pain blooming in his hand, the thing he feels most is the surge of happiness that spreads in his heart at how lovely, how nice it is to just _see_ Jackson again.

 

 

  

 

     The adrenaline must’ve been suppressing some of his heat symptoms, because once he settles into Jackson’s car and they’re speeding towards his apartment, because once he’s _safe_ and secure, he becomes absurdly aware of the coiling and uncoiling of his stomach and just how fucking  _hot_ it is. 

     Jackson swears and swerves in the lane when Jaebum starts unbuttoning his shirt in the car.

     “O-Okay, mind waiting until you’re in your apartment to strip?  Please?  You’re going to cause an accident here." 

     “Relax, Jesus, I have a t-shirt underneath.”

     “Oh...oh, okay.  That’s...that’s good.”

     He finally manages to shrug and shimmy his way out of the dress-shirt, although there’s a slight delay when he has to pause to hiss at Jackson to keep his “Hands on the wheel, Wang” when he reaches to help Jaebum out of the sleeve.

     It’s better.  Better, a bit cooler, but Jaebum still feels like he’s on fire and is half tempted to roll down the window and stick his head out like a dog.  Fortunately he doesn’t need to, because they’re pulling up to his apartment then.

     Jaebum gets out of the car as soon as it’s parked, and Jackson’s unhappy little noise at that is impossible not to notice.  “Hyung, can you please let me just get your - “

     “You don’t have to get the door for me, Jackson.  And if you _do_ , you can wait until it doesn’t feel like I’m standing on the fucking sun.”

     Jackson pauses and blinks, seemingly startled a bit, before he’s rounding the car and jogging to catch up to Jaebum as he slides through the doors to the building.  “Okay, hyung,” he says, finally reaching Jaebum where he stands waiting in front of the elevator door.  “I think I know the answer to this, but is it weird I find you absurdly hot right now?”

     Any other day, Jaebum would startle at that.  The knowledge that _Jackson finds me hot, Jackson thinks I’m hot, oh fuck he said I’m_ hot _,_ would just race in endless circles in Jaebum’s mind and flip in his stomach.  But the creeping haze of the heat and the want and the lust is fogging up his mind, so all he does is raise a brow at Jackson’s choice of words and untucks his t-shirt from his pants to wave it around a little to try to cool himself down a little.

     “I...sorry, bad word choice I guess?”

     Jaebum snorts at Jackson’s apology as the elevator doors slide open, and Jackson follows him inside like a chastised puppy.

     He swears at the pain in his hand when he presses the button for his floor, swears louder when he immediately forgets about said pain but is promptly reminded of it when he goes to unlock his door.  The keys drop to the ground as the pain shoots through his hand, but Jackson is bending down to retrieve them and unlock the door before Jaebum can ever open his mouth.

     Jaebum doesn’t think he’s ever been so _grateful_ to be home.

     “You have any antibiotic ointment or anything?”

     Jaebum just blinks at Jackson.  “Uh...medicine cabinet in the bathroom, probably?”

     So Jackson, with a nod, disappears down the hall, letting out a little “aha!” when he finds the bathroom.

     There’s....too much going on for Jaebum to mentally unpack, especially with how the sight of Jackson in his apartment is doing worrisome things to his heart and...elsewhere.  So Jaebum settles for cranking up the air conditioning and stripping off his t-shirt with a hiss.

     As one does in the winter.

     Jackson returns then, hands full of gauze Jaebum didn’t even remember they had and a tube of Neosporin, but his eyes catch on Jaebum.

     And the heat unfurls further in Jaebum’s gut as Jackson’s eyes make a quite obvious pilgrimage from his face, down his black tank top-covered torso, to his bare arms.

     There’s an audible click as one of them swallows thickly, but Jaebum...honestly doesn’t know which of them it came from.

     Jackson clears his throat then, eyes a little dark and cheeks a little flushed, but he’s beckoning Jaebum over to the sink. He won’t meet his eyes, seemingly intent on looking everywhere _but_ , and if it were anyone else it would have Jaebum smirking a little. 

     But it’s Jackson.  Jackson, whose hands are gently taking Jaebum’s bleeding and bruised ones in his own to direct them to the stream of cold water running from the tap.  Jackson, whose throat keeps jumping and mouth keeps twitching, and it has Jaebum reeling a little, feeling a bit dizzy because he can’t seem to stop _looking_ at -

     Hmm.

     The water, blessedly cool, feels good, running over his cuts, until Jackson’s pouring a bit of soap over his hand and a hiss squirms its way from between his teeth.

     “You can swear, you know,” Jackson says quietly, eyes trained and focused on where he’s manipulating Jaebum’s hand under the running water, and it’s probably Jaebum’s heat talking, but it’s...it’s hot. “I won’t mind.  You’ve deserved it, after this shit day of yours.”

     But Jaebum just grits his teeth, swallows around the pain that lodges in his throat, emanating from both his hand and low in his stomach.  He can smell it, he can smell _himself_ , sickly sweet, and it has nausea swirling in his throat and has his head feeling light, light enough that he leans back into the counter a bit more.  “I’m fine,” he says anyway.

     “Ah, so Chic and Sexy.”

     Jaebum narrows his eyes at Jackson, who just smiles apologetically as he keeps...cradling Jaebum’s hand.  Jaebum’s hyper-aware of the hands, of the roughness of the skin and how _good_ they would probably feel elsewhere, until Jackson is bending his knuckles a bit and -

     Jaebum _does_ curse at that.

     “Alright, I think that should be good.”  Jackson reaches for a piece of paper towel then, carefully drying his hand before dabbing some antibiotic ointment on Jaebum’s knuckles and securing the bandage over them.  He’s raising Jaebum’s hand to his lips then to press them briefly to the wounded knuckles, and Jaebum finds himself unable to do anything but sharply inhale as he swears he feels the warmth of Jackson’s lips send a tingle up his entire arm before travelling lower, lower...

     “Thanks,” Jaebum says gruffly, tugging his hand away so he can try to refocus and centre himself despite the heat pooling in his gut and the way his vision seems to tunnel on Jackson.  It’s the only thing he can seem to focus on, really, because the rest of the world seems to somewhat spin while Jackson reminds startling clear and so, so striking in that blue button down.

     It looks good on him.  A periwinkle blue, that just complements his skin so, so nicely, and he’s tucked it back in so his shoulders look so _broad_ and his waist so _tiny_ that Jaebum’s fingers itch to touch.  It looks beautiful with his golden hair, still mussed a little from their bit of an altercation earlier, and Jaebum imagines dislodging it further, winding his fingers into those locks and  _tugging_ and seeing what kind of sounds he can elicit from those plush lips and -

     Hmmm.

     “You okay, hyung?  You’re looking a little flushed.”

     Jackson’s hand is on his forehead, then, and Jaebum leans into it instinctively, pushing into it and against it so that it falls onto his neck and his omega just _preens_ at the feeling.  “’m fine,” Jaebum murmurs.

     But then he’s pushing himself away from the counter to stand and he just keeps...falling.

     Jackson’s there, _of course_ he’s there, hands steadying at Jaebum’s waist to keep him upright and Jaebum wants to just collapse forward so that those arms coil around him.  But Jaebum’s knees, the idiots, won’t cooperate, because they’re suddenly the consistency of gelatin and Jaebum finds himself dropping, until there are hands under his arms, holding him up.

     “Shit, hyung,” Jackson gasps, immediately moving to Jaebum’s side to weave his arm around Jaebum and pull Jaebum’s arm over his shoulders and...yeah, that’s nice.  That’s _very_ nice, because Jaebum can feel the warmth of Jackson’s body under his arm and against his side, and feel the hardness of the muscles as they tense under the additional weight.  Jaebum’s omega whimpers a little in delight at the sign of strength.  “Let’s get you to bed, okay?  To bed, and then I’ll leave, so you can...yeah.”

     “Yeah,” Jaebum agrees, voice sounding oddly distant and his fingers keep kneading into Jackson’s shoulder, apparently having a mind of their own.  “Yeah, okay.”

     “You shouldn’t have went to school today,” Jackson rambles, arm so nice and solid around Jaebum’s waist and Jaebum can’t help it, can he, if he leans into the touch.  “Not like this.  Do you realize what could’ve happened today if - if - “

     “I didn’t know, Sseun-ah,” Jaebum tells him, and is his voice slurring a little, or is it just his imagination?  “I thought...I thought I was just getting sick.”

     “Aren’t there, like, apps to track this?  So it doesn’t creep up on you like this?”

     Jaebum hums a little, partly in agreement and partly because Jackson’s hand drops to his waist to lead him through his bedroom door and Jaebum wouldn’t mind if it stayed there forever.  But then Jackson’s depositing him on his bed, and it’s so _comfy_ under him but the hands _disappear_ , and that makes a whine tear itself from Jaebum’s chest.

     Jackson audibly gulps.

     His Adam’s apple moves with it.  It’s so delicious, so delightful, and Jaebum wonders what it would feel like under his hands, his lips, his tongue.

     “I...” Jackson starts, haltingly, as he stares at Jaebum staring at him, and his hands fidget in front of him until Jaebum’s reaching out to grab onto them and just...look at them.  Imagine them.  “I should go.”

     “Or you could stay.”

     Wait, what?

     Jaebum’s rationality is in the corner of his mind, waving a red flag and jumping erratically and setting off flares because _what the fucking HELL, Im, we’ve talked about this!_ But Jaebum’s mouth seems to have a mind of its own, and so do his hands, which slide up Jackson’s arms and tremble at the feeling of _strength, taughtness, muscles, power._

     Jackson’s eyes are dark, almost black, when they flicker from Jaebum’s hands to his eyes.  And even though Jaebum feels like he’s already combusting, there’s an intensity there, an electricity that sparks there, that feels like it sets another blaze erupting within him.  “I...I don’t think that’s a good idea, hyung.”

     “I think it’s a _great_ idea,” Jaebum all but purrs, tilting his head back so he can meet Jackson’s eyes.  Even though Jackson’s not an alpha, Jaebum knows that the movement, the offering and baring of his neck, affects him, because there’s a shudder that quite visibly ripples through Jackson’s body at the gesture.  “A tremendous one.  Maybe the best I’ve ever had.”

     And  _fuck_ , it _is_ a great idea.  Because he can fuck Jackson, and it’ll be exactly what Jaebum needs to both help his heat along and scratch the itch that has him suffering from all those stupid dreams and wants and longings and finally, _finally_ , let Jaebum get over him.

     It’s perfect.  Two birds, one _very_ attractive stone.

     Jackson’s mouth falls open at that, breath shuddering out, and _yes_ , it’s a wonderful idea, because they look soft and plush and Jaebum’s mouth waters in anticipation of what they’ll feel like under his.  At what they’ll feel like _on_ him and _around_ him and -

     “No,” Jackson says, withdrawing his arms from Jaebum’s grasp, and Jaebum feels his world shatter apart into a million pieces and plummet into oblivion even as the sudden loss of contact has the pain in his abdomen tightening.  “No, hyung.  Not...not like this.”

     Jaebum’s so _confused._ Because Jackson’s clearly not unaffected, pupils still blown and breaths shuddering so loudly that Jaebum feels them in his bones.  There’s a very appetizing bulge in the front of his jeans, suggesting that at least a _part_ of him is intensely delighted at where Jaebum wants this to go. 

     “I should go.  Really,” Jackson repeats.  He stumbles back, nearly trips over a few textbooks Jaebum’s left lying on the floor before hastily righting himself.  Jaebum reaches a hand out, but Jackson dodges from the touch as if it would brand him.  “I...I’ll call Jinyoung, let him know that...that...yeah.  And uh...take care of yourself?  Drink lots, and...and eat something, and...yeah.  Have fun!  Er...nevermind.  I’ll...see you later?”

     Jackson flees.  Flees like he’s being chased by rabid animals, although there’s only Jaebum, left sitting on his bed, confused and disoriented and _so hot_ and frustrated.

     But though the apartment door clicks closed, and Jackson’s _gone_ , his scent lingers.  It’s strong, stronger than Jaebum’s ever smelt before, and there’s a bit of spiciness to it that’s so, so unfamiliar but which has his omega quivering because spice generally means _alpha_.  He stumbles to his feet, to the door to hastily lock it, through the apartment because he hopes, with a desperation that sits low in his throat, that Jackson’s left something behind that smells like him.

     He hasn’t.  But when Jaebum returns to his bedroom and closes the door and strips off his tank top, the one side and around the back of the neck smell like Jackson.  Like a combination of Jackson and Jaebum, and something in Jaebum simultaneously unravels and tightens.

     He brings it to his nose, and shudders as the scent sends his heart into overdrive and his hand down his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I wanted to thank you all again for staying with me on this journey.
> 
> Unfortunately, I have a substantial presentation for school approaching in the coming weeks, so this fic will likely be going on a brief hiatus until that's done and over with. If all goes according to plan, I'll be back with another chapter before the end of the month! I hope you all don't mind being patient with me. 
> 
> Until then, if you'd like to chat about this fic or GOT7 more generally, you can find me on Tumblr at nctzen-eri. I'd love to chat with you!
> 
> I'll see you again as soon as I can! Until then, thank you for all the love and support. ❤️❤️


	12. Question for my readers

Hi everyone.

Sorry, but this isn’t an update.Just a note for anyone who is still reading, regarding some feedback I’ve been getting.

So as you’ve probably realized, if you’ve been reading along (IF NOT, SPOILER ALERT), Jackson is an alpha.This was always my plan, and there have been hints of this since the very beginning.The idea for this fic started with imagining an alpha who didn’t seem/act like an alpha, and an omega who didn’t seem/act like an omega, and what kind of issues they might face on their own journey.It was supposed to be a story of Jaebum coming to love Jackson regardless of what he was, not because of it.It was supposed to be a story of self-identity and not conforming to the typical “alpha/omega” norms and learning to be happy and carve out a place of one’s own despite those norms.Because God knows that even when they do get together (yes, spoiler: when), the conflict certainly won’t end there.

But I understand, from some comments and feedback, that some people are disappointed that Jackson is an alpha.Which I can’t blame them for necessarily, because I’ve been deliberately vague about his presentation, and I guess that has been misleading.

This is my first chaptered fic.My first chaptered anything, really.And I’m so proud of what I’ve done so far, and have enjoyed it so much, so this disappointment is disheartening.To be honest, I don’t _want_ to change it, but if there’s enough disappointment here that nobody will read or enjoy, I’d like to know so I can decide what to do next.

Thank you for your time and your feedback.❤️


	13. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. ❤️ Just a few notes before we get started.
> 
> One - thank you so much, all who responded to and commented on my last update. I had wanted to gauge just how prevalent the disappointment was, to revise this story if needed, but I was surprised and overwhelmed (in a good way!) at the response. Thank for for reading, for commenting, for showing your love. And thank you too to those who did express your disappointment...I'm sorry that you are disappointed, but perhaps we'll see some omega x. omega pics pop up (maybe from me, sometime in the future?). Either way, it is something I'm toying with including a bit more in this fic, albeit not with Jackson and Jaebum, so I hope that soothes the unhappiness a bit.
> 
> Two - I'm sorry for this chapter being a little later than expected. My presentation went really well (hooray!) and as I've started working again I've found it hard to find the time and energy to get back into this fic. But rest assured, it's not over yet!
> 
> Three - Updates may be moving to every two weeks. I struggled mightily getting back into the swing of writing, so if that struggle continues updates will be a bit less frequent. Hopefully that isn't the case, but I thought I'd offer a warning just in case. (I'm hoping that seeing GOT7 tonight will inspire me 😉)
> 
> And without further ado, I hope you enjoy! ❤️

     It’s...probably the worst heat Jaebum’s ever had.

     Well, not probably.  Definitely.

     Jaebum’s never really had particularly _bad_ heats, compared to some other omegas.  He doesn’t experience the same utter black-outs some report, with the associated complete lack of coherency and rational thought and inability to focus on anything other than the need to be knotted.  Jaebum’s never been like that - fortunately, because he frankly doesn’t know if he could _handle_ being like that, doesn’t know if he could handle being so vulnerable and susceptible and _weak_ like that.

     But he’s like that this time.  He’s like that this time, to the point that Jinyoung had nearly packed him up and driven him to the hospital, because it’s four days and his fever won’t break, he won’t eat anything other than the odd protein bar Jinyoung manages to coerce into him, and he’s delirious to the point of being incapable of responding to questions with anything more than a few shaky words, if he even responds at all.

     It breaks on day four.

     Normally, his heat would be nearly over, at this point. It would peak after a full two days, then gradually dissipate for another two and Jaebum would be back to normal - albeit tired and sore - after four.  But for some reason, everything seems to be talking far, far longer than normal, and the first time Jaebum finds the fog in his brain easing and the coherency returning is on day four, when he awakens to wet sheets and sweaty skin and a cool cloth on his forehead and Jinyoung’s eyes steady on his.

     “Thank  _fuck_ , you’re finally awake,” Jinyoung says, voice deep and shaky as he watches Jaebum cautiously.  Jaebum would feel guilty, but he’s too exhausted and sore and achy all over to do much more than just hazily note the worry in his friend’s voice.  “Is it over?”

     Jaebum gives himself a moment, to breathe and assess the way the exhaustion hangs heavy on his bones, seems to weigh down his chest.  But beneath it all, there’s still a lurking heat, brewing deep in his abdomen and sizzling through his nerves.  “No,” he tries to say, but his voice is hoarse and feels like sandpaper in his throat, so he lets Jinyoung help him sit up against the headboard and takes a sip of the water he grabs from the desk.  It’s cool in his throat, feels nice going down, but it sloshes uneasily in his stomach with every shift and movement.  “Not yet,” he manages to finally croak out.

     Jinyoung’s eyes are swimming with something, something that looks like fear and anxiety and a concern so deep it threatens to spill out.  “This isn’t normal,” he says, frown deepening on his face by the second.  “Not for you.”

     Jaebum doesn’t remember much of the past three-plus days.  Doesn’t remember much beyond disjointed flashes of toys in his shaky hands and his stomach rolling at the sight of the protein bars on his bedside table and the sensation of feeling full but still _so empty_.  He thinks he remembers breaking down, at some point, in hysterical frustration and irritation because nothing was working, nothing was _working_ and he didn’t know why, didn’t know why nothing was helping to abate that overwhelming inferno within him.  And although Jinyoung offered to help, all but pleaded to help, the thought of Jinyoung’s hands on him had made something dark and unpleasant and uncomfortable lodge itself in Jaebum’s chest.

     Beyond that, he doesn’t remember much.  Which tells him that Jinyoung is probably - no, definitely - right, saying it’s not normal.

     And Jinyoung’s eyes are still on him, looking panicked and exhausted and haunted and somewhat frantic and they’re shadowed by bags so dark that Jaebum feels something rattling in his chest.  “I almost took you to the hospital,” he tells Jaebum, voice shaky.  It’s not often he’s like this, not often that the snark and the bossiness and the sarcasm sheds in favour of pure unadultered concern, and that knowledge has Jaebum’s throat closing with emotion.  “I almost took you to the hospital, because I kept trying to wake you up and you...wouldn’t.  You wouldn’t wake up, you wouldn’t respond at all, and I...I even checked your _pulse_ , hyung.  But then you woke up, and you kept batting my hands off of you and away from you and you kept sobbing and _screaming_ for - “

     Jaebum pulls him in.

     Jinyoung crashes into his chest, limp like a doll cut from its strings, and his head buries into Jaebum’s neck and his arms fold themselves around his neck.  And Jaebum can feel him quaking a little, shuddering in his hold, and the ugly sniffling sounds and the wetness he feels on his clavicle have his chest tightening even as his omega relishes the feeling, finally, of physical contact. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into Jinyoung’s hair, squeezing him tight.  “I’m sorry for worrying you.  But I’m fine, Jinyoungie.  Okay?  Hyung is fine.”

     Jinyoung just nods into his shoulder, and clutches him tighter.

     Jaebum just holds him.  He doesn’t mind.  Jinyoung is obviously shaken, was obviously scared, and it’s Jaebum’s fault.  And even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t mind either.

     Jinyoung eventually pulls back, hastily drawing the sleeve of his maroon sweater over his face, wiping away the tears and snot with a deep, shuddering breath.  “You stink,” he grumbles.

     Jaebum just smiles, and ignores the way it pulls and feels foreign on his face.  “Sorry.”

     “Think you could survive in the bathroom for a few minutes on your own while I strip your bed and draw you a bath?”

     “I can probably manage that, yeah.  But, Nyoung-ah, you don’t have to - ”

     “Like hell I don’t, Im Jaebum.  I don’t even want to think about what’s on these sheets.”

     So, with Jinyoung’s not inconsiderable help, he stands.  It takes a few minutes, because Jinyoung has to find some boxers for him to slip into, and then when Jaebum does make it to his feet his knees promptly buckle beneath him and he has to sag into Jinyoung’s side.  But with Jinyoung’s help, he makes it to the bathroom and leans into the cabinet while he waits for the water to rise in the tub.

     Jaebum’s seen himself look bad, before.  After that particularly interesting night out partying, when Bambam kept pushing what he thought was fruit punch into his hands but was actually something with far more alcohol in it than should ever be consumed at one time lest one risk pickling their insides.  He hasn’t looked the best for the past week, as his body fought what he thought was a cold but was actually, seemingly, his impending heat.

     But this, he thinks idly, takes the cake.

     His face is gaunt, cheekbones more prominent than usual and skin looking dull and pale.  Which is no surprise, really, because he knows he hasn’t eaten much in the past few days, and while he imagines he’s slept on and off, he’s sure it hasn’t been restful.  He keeps swaying, slightly, in front of the mirror, like a curtain in a breeze, but it’s only Jaebum, standing on shaky legs and propping as much weight as he can on the counter.

     Jinyoung returns then, to pour some bubble bath under the streaming water before shutting off the taps and ushering Jaebum in.  He puts a hand over his eyes as he does so, holds his other arm out firm and steady for Jaebum to grab onto as he lowers himself into the tub.

     He looks like an annoyed butler, Jaebum can’t help but think, and it makes him smirk a little.

     Jinyoung leaves then, and Jaebum sighs, relaxes into the water that smells of creamsicles and has enough bubbles that it entices Jaebum to swirl a finger through them idly.  Until Jinyoung returns and plops down on the closed toilet seat.

     Jaebum’s face must reflect his confusion and questioning, because Jinyoung just crosses his arms and shifts so he can lean back against the wall beside the toilet.  “Don’t worry, there are enough bubbles to keep your modesty.  I just don’t trust you not to fall asleep and drown in there if I leave you alone.”

     Which...yeah, fair enough, because the warmth of the water is settling into his bones and relaxing his aching muscles.

     He’ll have to take Jinyoung out for dinner, he thinks, or buy him a...fruit basket, or something.  Because he’s an actual saint, as he keeps opening one eye to check on Jaebum every few minutes and eventually makes his way over to the tub to help Jaebum wash his hair when the exhaustion sets in and has his arms feeling like lead.  And though Jaebum makes sure to smile at Jinyoung, as he tilts his head back so Jinyoung can wash the suds from his hair with a pitcher of warm water, it’s not enough.

     Jaebum doesn’t know what _would_ be enough, after the worry he’s put his best friend through these past few days.

     But Jinyoung just smiles back, smears a trail of bubbles across Jaebum’s face to make him glare at him.  He just towels the wetness from his hair, bundles him up into a plush robe that smells of warmth and comfort, and deposits him on the side of his freshly-made bed with lips pressed to his forehead and a promise to be there if he’s needed.

     Jaebum’s not sure what he did, in a past life, to deserve Jinyoung.  But whatever it was, it must have been grand.

 

 

 

 

 

     It’s kind of funny, how Jaebum would almost _prefer_ those first few days of his heat.

     He would almost prefer not being entirely coherent beyond the overwhelming need to be mated, would almost prefer remembering little but those few moments between waking and tumbling back into the abyss of lust.  Because in the three further days it takes his heat to finally, _finally_ subside, he is completely aware of the thoughts that tumble unbidden through his mind as he tries to relieve the burning in his gut with his hands and toys.

     He remembers, then, what he’d thought of, as he pushed himself over the edge time and time again.  He remembers _who_ he’d thought of.  He remembers imagining that his hands were Jackson’s, that the knot on the toy was Jackson’s (super fucking ironic and doubly heart-breaking when he inevitably realized it wasn’t, and could never be - his subconscious didn’t seem to get the memo yet that since Jackson was an _omega_ ). He remembers imagining Jackson’s voice in his ear and teeth in his neck and breath on his stomach and hands everywhere, on him and in him and _everywhere_.

     The first time he _remembers_ coming, he does so with Jackson’s name stuttering from his lips.

     It’s the same.  The same, every time after that.

     As Jaebum lays naked on his bed, in sweat and cum-soaked sheets, chest heaving and limbs trembling as the heat _finally_ subsides, he realizes how much of an issue that is.

     He blames it on the heat.  On the insatiable need that clouded his brain.  It was natural, probably, to want things one couldn’t have, to want things one wouldn’t want otherwise, when your mind was burning and hazy like a wildfire.  It was probably Jackson that came to mind because he’d been the last person he’d seen, other than Jinyoung, and God knows he can’t think of Jinyoung even remotely sexually.  His mind had probably fixated on Jackson’s surprising and admittedly attractive confrontation with David, and fixated more on how he’d tended to Jaebum later with gentle hands and a soft kiss to his knuckles, and decided it would have itself a field day.

     That was it.  Definitely.

     It didn’t explain of course, Jaebum muses as he shifts, tries to peel away some of the sheets sticking to his body, why he’d...propositioned Jackson.  Like that.

     Fuck, he wishes he didn’t remember that.  He wishes he’d been further into his heat, then, so that the memories of it didn’t plague and haunt him like they are now.

     He recalls it like one recalls what they do when they’re drunk.  Recalls it clearly enough, recalls most of what he said, even though reflecting on it is like looking through a fog.  But he remembers.

     He remembers enough.

     The shame and embarrassment is sour in his mouth, heavy in his chest.

     He doesn’t know what came over him.  What he does know is that he crossed a line, went too far, and made the both of them uncomfortable.

     So he fumbles for his phone.  It takes him a while to find it, since he hasn’t looked at it in almost a week, but he finds it eventually, on the floor between his desk and the wall.

     He doesn’t know how it got there.  He isn’t sure he wants to know, either.

     But he finds it, and the unease is thick in his throat when his fingers shakily type out his message to Jackson.

 

**Jaebum**

_Can we talk?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum showers and dresses quickly, ears alert to any ping of a text message or ring of an incoming call.

     None come.

     He strips his bed, too, and throws the sheets in the washing machine down the hall.  He finds Jinyoung asleep on the couch, drooling ever so slightly, and it takes Jaebum remembering how the younger had looked after him the past days to avoid not taking a picture of it for posterity.

     He settles down to email his professors an apology for missing class, and beg for mercy in the form of their notes or a recording of their lecture or something.  Anything, really, would make Jaebum rest a little easier.

     He spends the rest of the day with his nose buried in his textbook.  Jaebum might or might not wait all afternoon for Jackson to respond.

     He doesn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum sends him another text the next morning. It’s simple, just a quick “Please, Jackson-ah, can I call you?  Or you call me?  Whatever’s convenient.”

     He doesn’t get a response to that either.

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum’s never really been one to be tied to his phone. Not like Bambam, anyway, for whom his phone is like another appendage.

     These days, though, his phone is always either in or by his hand.  He stares at it, mindlessly and numbly in a way Jaebum doesn’t want to think about, and every hour that passes without a ding or a ring has Jaebum’s heart plummeting another inch in his chest.

     He even calls him.  He even gives up any semblance of what Bambam calls “chill,” and calls him.  But the phone just rings, and rings, and rings, before Jackson’s chipper voice instructs him to _just leave a message and I’ll get back to you asap!  Unless you’re Mark.  If you’re Mark, you can wait._

He doesn’t leave a message.  He doesn’t even know what to say.  I’m sorry.  Please call me.  I miss you.

     He can’t say that.

     So he just listens to the silence of the answering machine until it beeps, and thinks it feels similar to the emptiness in his stomach.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum’s never been afraid of much.  Not of many people.  Not of confrontation.  He’s had night classes before, where he’ll have to walk ten or twenty minutes across campus in the pure and unadultered dark, and it’s never bothered him.  He’s always been sure of his ability to take care of himself that personal safety has never really been much of a concern for him.

     He’s been afraid for others.  For Bammie, when Jaebum came across him in a bar bathroom fighting off a guy who’d slipped some drug into his drink.  For Jinyoung, when his parents learned he was studying acting rather than economics or business and threatened to disown him, resulting in a sobbing Jinyoung climbing up the trellis of Jaebum’s bedroom and into his bed. For Yugyeom, even, when he stumbled into Jaebum’s apartment, tucked into Bambam’s arm with a nasty bump swelling on the back of his head from where he’d struck it on the floor collapsing from exhaustion during dance practice, and Jinyoung and Jaebum had helped nurse him through a concussion.

     But now, as his class ends and the students file out, David and his friends among them, there’s a shiver screeching up and down Jaebum’s spine and a feeling of unease just gnawing inside him.

     Call him paranoid, but he swears, swears on anything he owns, that David had been watching him.  The entire class, Jaebum had felt the eyes on him.  Taunting or mocking or threatening, he wasn’t sure, but they’d been there, boring angry little holes into Jaebum’s back and making his pencil stressfully rat-tat-tat against the table.  And when class had ended, David had stalked to the front of class, to the garbage can there.  Ostensibly just to discard of the paper he’d balled in his hand, but the way he’d been sure to catch Jaebum’s eye, with a cocked brow, greening nose, and smirk, had spoke of something far different.

     They could be waiting.  In the hall.  In a classroom or a bathroom, for him to pass.  Or outside, to corner him and force him into a car and -

     It makes Jaebum feel sick.

     His knees shake a little when he stands, feeling wobbly as he makes his way over to his professor.  He wills a smile onto his face as he accepts the notes for the past week with a bow, but it feels like it frays at the edges.

     His professor must sense something is a bit amiss, because he raises a questioning brow at Jaebum.  Jaebum just forces his smile wider and his bow deeper.

     His hand stays over his phone in his pocket as he trudges up the aisle.

     There is, indeed, someone waiting for him in the hall, slouched across the bench with one ankle propped over his knee and eyes trained intently on the phone in his hands.  However, it’s probably the last person he would’ve expected.

     “Mark-hyung?”

     “One minute,” Mark grumbles, just loud enough for Jaebum to hear over the din of the leftover students trickling from their classes.  After a moment, he stands, pockets his phone.  “Sorry, wanted to finish that level.”

     “Sure,” Jaebum says, a bit cautious and wary with how Mark was just standing there, hands in the pockets of his jeans and a pea coat open over his hoodie, staring at Jaebum with something indecipherable in his eyes.  Jaebum’s not sure what it is, but something about Mark puts him...on edge.  “Are you...waiting for someone?”

     He doesn’t seem to have a backpack or bag with him, aside from a little cloth bag that wouldn’t hold much, so it’s a fair assumption, but Mark’s mouth still tips into a smile.  “Yeah.  You.” Something shrivels in Jaebum’s chest in discomfort and it definitely is _not_ fear, because Mark’s canines are showing and they’re sharp and have his omega cowering a bit even as Jaebum stands tall.

     “Oh.  Was there...something you wanted?”

     “Not me, so much.  Jackson,” Mark clarifies, and the name has Jaebum’s breath stuttering a bit in his throat.  “He wanted me to make sure you got home safe.”

     It feels like Jaebum’s chest collapses at that. “Oh.  You don’t have to do that.”

     That draws a shrug from Mark, whose eyes are dark and intent on Jaebum, _still_ , and it has Jaebum feeling bare and exposed and completely like a specimen on a microscope before a scientist’s observing eye.  “Jackson was pretty insistent that if he couldn’t come, I would.”

     “I...oh.  Well, I really don’t want to waste your time, so you can - “

     “Aish,” Mark grumbles out a curse, and it makes Jaebum blink a bit in surprise.  “Look, he didn’t tell me exactly what happened to prompt _this_ ,” he continues, gesturing a hand between Jaebum and himself.  “But I’m not stupid.  I know the sort of reputation this campus has, and it had Jackson worried enough to bribe me to come with a month’s worth of free take-out.  So just...let me walk you home.  For both his sanity, and my free food.”

     Jaebum feels like he can’t breathe, but he still mutters out a begrudged, “Fine.”

     Something settles in his stomach at the thought he won’t be walking home alone. He ignores it.

     It’s...awkward, Jaebum quickly decides, within about one minute of their walk to Jaebum’s apartment.  Jaebum’s never been the most talkative or social person ever, but Mark is almost eerily quiet.  Offering nothing but a little hum when Jaebum manages to muster up a comment, and with the scrape of his shoes across the pavement usually being the only indicator of his presence just a step behind Jaebum.

     It’s probably why Mark and Jackson are so close, Jaebum muses.  Because there’s enough of a difference, enough of a contrast, in their demeanors to create some sort of balance, to fill in the other’s gaps and round them out. Because Jackson is loud, sometimes almost unbearably so, but Mark is quiet.  Could probably calm him down, bring him back down to earth.

     Jaebum wonders, idly, if Jackson finds that Jaebum calms him down too.

     “Is this you?” Mark questions him suddenly.

     Jaebum blinks, sees his apartment building looming familiarly in front of them.  “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

     “Nice place.”

     “It’s alright.”

     “Close too.”

     “Mmhmm.”

     Jaebum isn’t sure what he’s expecting, now, but it’s not Mark following him into the building’s little lobby.  “You, ah...you don’t have to come up.  I don’t want to waste anymore of your time.”

     Mark snorts a little, lips quirking.  The harsh lights of the lobby should make him look pale, pallid even, but they don’t.  They just fall over his face, carving his cheekbones deeper and his jaw sharper.  It’s decidedly not fair, how handsome he is.

     Does Jackson think he’s handsome too?  Is that why he hasn’t texted him or called him?

     “It’s fine, Jaebum,” Mark says, voice lilting a bit with amusement, as the elevator dings.  “I’m under explicit instructions to drop you off at your door and not leave until I hear you lock it.”  Jaebum’s expression must look as bewildered and lost as he feels, because Mark just shrugs idly and says, “Don’t look at me.  He was insistent.”

     To say that Jaebum feels confused would be...a vast understatement.  Mark keeps looking at him, eyes steady and seemingly contemplative and warning, all at once, like he knows something Jaebum doesn’t.  Which is probably the case, because it feels like there’s so, so much that Jaebum doesn’t know.

     “Well...thanks for...everything,” Jaebum says lamely as he fits his key in the lock of his apartment door.

     Mark just hums, before he’s thrusting the hand holding the cloth bag out for Jaebum to take.  “Before I forget, this is for you.”  Jaebum blinks once, twice, before talking the bag.  There’s a canister inside, a small black one with a nozzle of some sort.  “It’s pepper spray,” Mark offers.  “As I said, Jackson didn’t tell me what happened but...I’ve been around this campus.  Seen some things.  Found myself cornered in an alley by a couple of creeps who thought I was an omega.  So I made an educated guess and figured a backup to your fists mightn’t be a bad idea.  But if I’m wrong, feel free to toss it.  Just don’t give it to Bambam, ‘cause he’d probably think it was cologne and pepper spray himself or some shit.”

     Jaebum’s fists tightens on the bag, and some odd combination of mortification and gratitude sweeps through him.  “Thank you, Mark-hyung.”

     Mark just shrugs again, but there’s a pink tinging his cheeks that makes him look...oddly flustered.  It’s kind of cute.  “It’s no - “

     They both jolt as the door to Jaebum’s apartment swings open.

     “Jaebum-hyung, what are you - “ Jinyoung pauses, eyes wide and blinks quick as his gaze sweeps from Jaebum to Mark, down to Mark’s feet and up again, before flicking back to Jaebum.  There is a league of questions swarming behind his eyes, and they already have a headache brewing in Jaebum’s temples.  “Who’s this?”

     “Mark-hyung,” Jaebum tells him, wary of the way Jinyoung’s pitching his voice to sound deeper.  “Jackson’s roommate.”

     “Well hello, Mark-hyung, Jackson’s roommate.”  His eyes sweep, again, entirely without subtlety, down Mark’s lean frame.  He leans against the door jamb, one arm propped on his hip, and it makes Jaebum nauseous because he’s _seen_ Jinyoung practice this in the bathroom mirror, practice finding the optimal position _to achieve_ _supreme fuckability, hyung, it’s a science._

“Ah...hi.”  The blush is deepening on Mark’s face, and he seems insistent on looking anywhere _but_ at Jinyoung and Jaebum swears that every deity in the entire fucking universe must be conspiring against him.  It’s the only explanation for why he has to _witness_ this, with his own eyes.

     “Park Jinyoung,” Jinyoung says, offering a hand for Mark to take and the way Jinyoung holds it, delicately and thumb stroking, stroking, stroking has Jaebum wanting to smash his head against the wall.  “Third year student, aspiring actor, best friend to this ungrateful idiot.”

     Jaebum doesn’t even have time to feel admonished before Mark’s laughing, high and tinkling and _what the hell_ as he says, “I have an ungrateful idiot at home, so I empathize.”

     Jinyoung smiles wide, blinding, before he’s back to running a hand deliberately through his hair and puffing his chest out like a fucking peacock.  Maybe Jaebum could smash his head _through_ the wall...would that be more effective?  “Perhaps we could empathize with each other over drinks?

     Mark smiles shyly.  “Maybe.”

     “There’s a party at our neighbour, Bambam’s, on Friday.  Maybe we could start our empathizing there.”

     “I’ll...I’ll be there.  I mean, I was going to already.  Be there.  But I’ll...I’ll definitely be there now.”

     Nope.  Nope, smashing his head through the wall definitely won’t be enough for Jaebum.

     “Wonderful,” Jinyoung purrs, and Jaebum wonders if there’s a way to forget a sound and ever hearing it because that would be terrific.  “Until then, Mark-hyung.”

     He disappears, like the bastard with the fondness for dramatic exits he is, and Jaebum can just sigh.  “Sorry about...that.  And him.”

     Mark sucks in a deep breath, audible even to Jaebum, and rubs a hand across the back of his neck in clear embarrassment. “I...it’s fine.  I should...go.”

     “Sure.  Uh, wait,” Jaebum says, as Mark immediately turns to scurry away.  “Is Jackson okay?”  It comes out rushed, a little panicked, and Jaebum should regret it but it’s been eating at him, eating at him for _days._ “Is he...upset with me, do you know?  He just...he hasn’t been texting me back, or returning my calls, or...”

     “Ah,” Mark says.  “Nah, he’s fine.  I mean, he’s not upset with you, that I know of.  He’s just been...busy.”

     Jaebum feels like he simultaneously deflates and brightens.

     “He’s been...well, his cycle hit kind of...unexpectedly.  So he’s been off the grid since late last week, but he’s coming around.”

     His...cycle.  His heat.  A little part of Jaebum aches in worry, because isn’t Jackson on suppressants?  But the larger part, the much larger part, sings in relief at the knowledge that Jackson hasn’t just been ignoring him out of spite or anger at what happened.

     “Oh.  Okay.  Thanks.”

     “Sure,” Mark says, and his smile is knowing and eyes amused as he regards Jaebum.  “I’ll be sure to pass on your concern.”

     “Oh.  You...you don’t have to do that.”

     And Mark’s smile grows, into a full smirk that shows off those sharp canines.  “I know.”

     Yep.  The deities are definitely conspiring against him, because there’s no way that Jaebum will survive now that Mark and Jinyoung have met.


	14. Preparing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys...this is a bit of a filler chapter. However, it does include some of my favourite lines so far so...take that as you will, I guess.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! 💚

     “Do you think these pants are tight enough, hyung?”

     “Ah...”

     “Because I have another pair that are tighter.  I just liked how these are leather, you know? And I think they make my non-existent ass look a little more existent.  But maybe the other pair would be better?  But then I’d have to change my boots, and these are my _power_ boots, hyung.  I need the power.”

     Jaebum watches as Bambam twirls himself around in front of the mirror in Jaebum’s bedroom, twisting and arching and contorting to get the full view of his legs.  Jaebum doesn’t honestly know how any pair of pants could be tighter than the ones that currently look like they’re painted on the kid’s skinny legs.   He’s already marginally concerned for the kid’s circulation, just as the sheer black lace shirt he’s wearing beneath his black blazer have Jaebum idly wondering how long it would take Bambam to freeze.

     “I...really don’t know what to say, Bam.”

     “Of course you don’t, hyung,” Bam huffs with a roll of his eyes.  Turning in front of the mirror, he looks over his shoulder to wiggle his hips a bit and do some body rolls, presumably to see how the pants wear up.  He looks absolutely ridiculous, and it makes Jaebum snort.  “Because you don’t have my sense of fashion.”

     “I could...get Jinyoung?”

     Bambam stops wiggling like a fish out of water to just stare at Jaebum, arching a brow that all but reeks of judgment.  “You mean the king of dad sweaters and middle-aged cardigans?  Yeah, thanks but no thanks.  I’d walk out of here looking like I’m ready to hop in my mini van to take my brood of kids to a soccer game.”

     “I heard that, you ungrateful brat!” Jinyoung bellows from the next room.

     Jaebum’s kind of impressed, because the flicker of fear in Bambam’s eyes is briefer than expected before it fades to a glimmer of defiance.  “I’m glad, hyung!  Someone needs to teach you how to dress like you’re not 50!”

     Jinyoung’s footsteps round the corner, and sure enough, he’s in a sweater, grey with light stripes and overtop a black turtleneck.  Jaebum doesn’t think he looks bad...truthfully, Jinyoung’s one of those people who pretty much looks good in anything.  Jaebum thinks it probably has something to do with how he apparently looks like a Disney prince - at least, according to that girl who sat behind them in their shared English class a few years ago and had spent most of their classes humming the theme song from _Snow White_ while drawing little hearts around the initials “JY.” Still, Jinyoung’s eyes are dark and sharp as they scan over Bambam, lingering on the scant lace covering his chest. “So you’d rather I dress like I could inadvertently blind someone with my nipple if there’s a slight chill?”

     It takes all of Jaebum’s finely tuned reflexes to snag an arm around Bambam’s middle before he can pounce on Jinyoung. “Alright, boys, simmer down.”

     So Bambam just settles on baring his teeth a little at Jinyoung before whirling around like a fashionable tornado to round on Jaebum.  “What are you wearing, hyung?”

     “Uhm...probably jeans and a button down?”

     There’s a moment of silence, as Jaebum stares at Bambam staring at him, before Bambam’s heaving a sigh that speaks of a life full of disappointment and despair.  “And there goes whatever sliver of faith I still had in your fashion sense. Congratulations, hyung, you’re no better than Jinyoungie-hyung.”  And with another long-suffering sigh, he whirls on his heel to stalk over to Jaebum’s closet.  “Let me see what you have to work with.  Maybe you’re salvageable yet.”

     As Bambam rifles through his closet, muttering and sighing and giving a far too occasional coo of delight, Jaebum meets Jinyoung’s eyes.  In them he sees the same worry he feels sputtering in his stomach.

     They both, it seems, can sense the stress and anxiety radiating from Bambam.  Can sense how important tonight is to him, and how devastated he’ll be if it doesn’t go well.  He’s been doing this sort of micromanaging all week, of the snacks and the drinks and music and guest list, and it’s been more than a few times that Jaebum has opened his door in the morning to see Yugyeom standing in the hallway, head dipped low as he solemnly nods and types notes on his phone of all the instructions Bambam’s giving him. 

     Jaebum hopes it goes well.  Hopes that Youngjae sees the effort, sees the worry and the stress and anxiety and how much he clearly, _clearly_ , means to Bambam and Yugyeom.

     Bambam finally emerges from the closet (Jaebum snickers a little) with a black dress shirt, black bomber with gold embroidery around the sleeves and collar (a gift from Bambam last year _for those nights you want to get LAID, hyung_ ), and every pair of black jeans that Jaebum owns.  And all those items he tosses on Jaebum’s bed, before crossing his arms in front of his chest and staring at Jaebum expectedly.

     Jaebum can take a hint.  Especially when said hint comes from a guy whose eyes are a little wild and who’s sporting boots with heels and a pointed toe that looks like it could really, really hurt.

     So Jaebum, with no regard for modesty because modesty with these two has long gone out the window, just strips to change.

     The shirt does, admittedly, look good.  He has to keep swatting Bambam’s hands away from it as they sweep in to undo another couple buttons, so he settles on leaving it unbuttoned halfway down his chest and figures Bambam will probably soon be too absorbed by _Youngjae_ and _Yugyeom_ to notice when he buttons it up a bit more.  Bambam seems to like it underneath the bomber though, because he’s leering at Jaebum like a fucking creep as he says “damn, boy, get it”and even Jinyoung makes an appreciative noise in his throat because “shoulders.  Just...shoulders.”

The jeans take a bit more finessing.  Because Bambam keeps forcing him to change between them until they find the pair that’s the tightest and then Bambam is whipping out a pair of scissors and looking at Jaebum with a light in his eyes that’s frankly terrifying.

     It doesn’t take long for Jaebum to clue in.  Not with the way Bambam keeps flickering his gaze between Jaebum’s face and his jeans, and snapping the scissors open and closed menacingly.  So Jaebum just takes a step back, just a little tiny step that he’d never admit to taking, and growls, “I think the fuck not.”

     “But hyung,” Bambam whines, with a stomp of his boots and it’s all Jaebum can do to wonder if there’s steel in them, because why are they so _loud_?  “They’re fine, but with a couple artful tears, they could be _great._ Don’t you want to be _great_ , hyung?  Or do you want to spend the evening being mediocre like Jinyoungie-hyung?”

     Bambam barely - _barely_ \- manages to duck the book that Jinyoung sends sailing at his head, gulping a bit as it crashes into the wall.

     “But...these are some of my good jeans.  I _like_ these jeans.”

     “And you’ll like them even more when you see how _hot_ you can look with a bit more skin showing.” Bambam approaches him with another step, and Jaebum gulps at the sight of the scissors as they _snap, snap, snap._ “Please, Jaebummie-hyung?  I promise you’ll like them.  And if you don’t, I’ll buy you a new pair.”

     “Can I get that in writing?  With a signature?  In front of a witness?”

     “Hyungie,” Bambam says, lips out in a pout now and eyes in full puppy-dog mode, like he knows (he probably does) that Jaebum can barely resist him anything when he’s like this because the guilt is just so, so real.  “Please? For Bammie?  It’d mean so much to me.”

     Jaebum doesn’t know why it would mean so much to him. Doesn’t understand why.  Doubts that it really does, because it’s Bambam and Bambam is nothing if not skilled at getting what he wants.  But he spies the pout and how his shoulders are curved in ever so slightly, ever so defensively, and how there’s something lurking deep in his eyes that looks like fear and anxiety and resignation that has Jaebum’s heart clenching.  “Fine. But just a few.”

     “Just a few” ends up, when Jaebum finally tugs the jeans back on after warily watching Bambam hack away at them, with both of Jaebum’s knees out, a couple more stripes of skin showing on his calf, and a couple of tears high on his thigh.  Almost dangerously high.

     Jaebum just looks at them.  Looks at Bambam, eyes wild with glee now and looking like he just invented the lightbulb.  Looks at Jinyoung, whose gaze is trained on those holes that _must_ be too high up to be remotely appropriate.  “Well?”

     “They’re _perfect_ ,” says Bambam.

     Jinyoung just swallows a little, tilts his head as his eyes remained trained on Jaebum’s thigh and it’s leagues beyond weird.  “If I could get over the feeling-like-a-brother thing, I’d totally tap that.”

     “Jesus.”

     “What?” Jinyoung asks, with an unabashed shrug. “You look hot.  I’m not blind.  I can appreciate that.”

     “Hyungie’s gonna get some _dick_!” Bambam supplies with far, far too much excitement.

     Jaebum feels the flush rise on his neck.  “I’m not...I’m not _going_ to get some dick.  I’m going to cheer you on while you try to get _another_ dick, because you’ve decided you need _two_ , and then I’m coming home.  To sleep.”  He sees Jinyoung’s mouth open, and hastily adds, “ _Alone_.”

     Jinyoung just rolls his eyes with a muttered, “Lame.”

     “I hate you,” Jaebum tells them, dolefully. “I hate you both.”

     “Use that!” Bambam commands, long finger waving in Jaebum’s face.  “Embrace it. Angry can be a good look on you. Just keep the chin reigned in, yeah? Don’t want to knock anyone out with it.” Jaebum’s a moment, just one moment, away from cuffing Bambam on the back of the head for saying that, and Jinyoung on the back of the head for snorting at it in amusement, when Bambam’s clapping his hands together.  “Ooh! I have just the final touch to add. One second!”

     He races out then, a flash of black and artfully tousled white hair, leaving Jaebum feeling like he just - barely - survived a hurricane.

     Jinyoung only shrugs at him.  “He’s been like this all week.”

     “I know.”

     “He’ll be devastated if tonight doesn’t go well.”

     And ah, there’s that wariness in Jinyoung’s eyes. It has Jaebum reaching out to pat his arm consolingly.  “I know, Jingyoungie.  But between us and Yugyeom, he’d get through it.”

     “Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”

     “Hopefully not.”

     Jinyoung just looks at him, eyes appraising.  “You know, Bambam did a good job with you. Don’t tell him I said that.”

    Jaebum snorts.  “Of course not.”

     “I’m sure Jackson’ll like it.”

     He says it so offhandedly, so nonchalantly, that Jaebum almost finds himself agreeing or something equally ridiculous before he catches himself.  The frown that tugs on his lips is deliberate.  “What makes you think I care if Jackson’ll like it?”

     Jinyoung just laughs, one of those wide laughs that creases the corners of his eyes and has his hand rising to cover his mouth, before he catches Jaebum’s seriousness and just gapes.  “Wait, seriously?”

     And Bambam, in one of his rare moments of usefulness, interrupts them.

     He’s holding something black in his hands, a little strip no more than a half an inch, but it has Jaebum’s stomach plummeting. “I...really, Bam?  Really?  A choker?”

     Bambam just waves it like a sexy little black flag, and offers Jaebum the most bored look he can muster.  “Hyungie.  We’ve already established this.  Who’s the fashion master here?”

     “...you?”

     “And who is not?”

     “...Jinyoung?”

     Said Jinyoung kicks him in the shin.

     “Well, true, but also you, hyung.  So _you_ should listen to the master, a.k.a. _me_ , and put on the damn choker.  Or better yet, let me put it on you.  So just stand there and look all sexy and intimidating, okay?”

     Jaebum doesn’t even bother opposing him at this point. He knows when a battle is lost, and this one was forfeited the minute Bambam sat down beside a blond-haired kid with a smile of sunshine and a voice just as loud.

 

 

 

 

 

 

     Yugyeom, somewhat amusingly, looks just about as harried as Bambam.

     When Jaebum, Jinyoung, and Bambam make their way over to the younger’s apartment, the kid is there, looking a half a second away from just tearing down the “Congratulations!” sign he’s struggling to pin up on either side of the doorway into the kitchen.  So Jaebum and Jinyoung swoop in, Jinyoung with a quick ruffle to the kid’s hair, to secure the sign in his stead.

     Jaebum can’t help but smile at how Yugyeom immediately gravitates to Bambam, looking like a golden retriever puppy relieved at his owner finally returning home.  He ducks his head with a bashful grin so Bambam can smooth a hand over his wild hair with a little _tsk, tsk_ and press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

     Yeah, Jaebum thinks, Bambam will be alright.

     The guests are slow to arrive at first, but then its like they arrive by the dozens (which is probably an exaggeration, because it’s not like the apartment can _hold_ dozens, but still).  Suddenly there are far, far too many people in the little apartment for Jaebum’s liking, so he finds himself moving to the edge of the room, close to the door, where he can observe people without being groped or jostled or roped into conversation with someone he doesn’t know.  Jinyoung hovers beside him, eyes flickering from face to face like he’s looking for something - or _someone_ , Jaebum figures is more appropriate - as he takes idle sips from the beer in his hand.

     Jinyoung perks up when there’s a loud knock on the door, but immediately wilts when it opens.

     Jaebum had thought Bambam was tense _before_ Youngjae arrived.  But the moment Yugyeom opens the door to reveal Youngjae, smile wide and eyes bright and cheeks dusted pink with a hint of embarrassment, there’s a shift in the atmosphere around the pair that’s impossible to not notice.

     From the moment Youngjae enters, Bambam and Yugyeom are there.  Beside him, around him, hovering.  Jaebum worries, for the hint of a second, whether they might overwhelm the poor kid, but his laughs are loud and his face never without a smile and it seems to Jaebum that he looks like there’s no place he’d rather be than between those two idiots who can’t seem to look at anything but him.

     “How’d the showcase go, Youngjae-hyung?  Did it go well?”

     “I bet it went fantastic!”

     “Of course it did, Yuggie, it’s Youngjae-hyung!”

     Youngjae just indulges them, smile turning a bit shy in a way that has Bambam going full heart-eyes mode and yeah, Jaebum thinks, as relief loosens his chest, they should definitely be okay.  “It was good.  I was worried because my voice cracked in rehearsal, but I got a standing ovation.  My professor was really happy with it.”  And the blush colouring his face just deepens as he averts his gaze to add, “I just wish you guys could’ve been there.”

     “Aw, hyung,” Yugyeom coos, eyes disappearing into crescents with the force of his smile.  “Did you miss us?”

     Youngjae just shrugs, but the way his fingers fiddle nervously with the hem of his shirt belies the truth.  “I mean, maybe a little.”

     “Just a little, hyung?” Bambam exclaims dramatically, hand clutched over his chest.  “I’m so hurt!”

     Youngjae’s smile just widens.  Jaebum can’t help the hope that takes root in his chest, the content as he sees how _happy_ Bambam is.  He turns to Jinyoung to tell him as much, and finds the space beside him empty.

     Jinyoung, as Jaebum quickly realizes, has found the _someone_ he was looking for.  That _someone,_ apparently, being Mark, who’s taking the cup of beer Jinyoung is thrusting into his hands with a face that seems as red as his hair.  Jaebum sees how Jinyoung’s fingers linger around the cup, linger just enough to create contact with Mark’s, and Jaebum rolls his eyes when Jinyoung says something through a haughty smirk that has the blush on Mark’s face just deepening further.

     “I bet you Youngjae says yes, when they finally work up the courage to ask him.”

     Jaebum startles, the beer in his cup nearly sloshing over the rim as he whirls around to the voice.

     And it’s probably unhealthy, the way his internal organs seem to rearrange as the breath seems to leave Jaebum’s lungs and his heart rises in his throat.

     Jackson’s there, beside him.  Jaebum’s not sure how he missed him, not sure how he missed him sidling up beside him and propping himself against the wall, when he can’t seem to focus on anything _else_ now but how... _good_ he looks, in his fitted white dress shirt tucked into tight black jeans.  It makes it hard to breathe.

     And Jaebum realizes, in that moment, with a startling clarity that has his chest tightening, just how much he missed him.

     He wonders what Jackson would say, if Jaebum told him he’d missed him.  What Jackson would do.  Whether he’d flush as furiously as Mark, or whether his return quip would be light and quick and charming and playful like Jackson always is.

     He can’t tell him, of course.  So all Jaebum does is smile.  All he _can_ do is smile.  “I’d rather keep my money, thanks.”

     Jackson grins too, but even in the poor lightning of the room, suddenly dimmed with that stupid disco ball of Bambam’s hanging in the centre, it’s clear that the exhaustion is too deep and dark around his eyes for the grin to reach them.  Jaebum’s fingers itch to reach out, to smooth at the tightness in his jaw and the cheeks that don’t seem as full as they had been, to ease the worries away like Bambam had ran careful hands over Yugyeom’s unruly locks.  “It’s good to see you, Jaebum-hyung.”

     Oh.  Oh, he had _missed_ Jackson.  “It’s good to see you too, Sseun-ah.”

     “I’m sorry for not texting you.  Or returning your calls.  I promise I wasn’t ignoring you.”

     And as guilt joins that exhaustion, weighing Jackson’s face down further, Jaebum doesn’t resist the need to comfort, to touch. He can’t find it in himself to resist. So his hand finds the back of Jackson’s neck and, like always, Jackson seems to melt under the touch, some of the tension in his shoulders unknotting with a grateful little smile, and Jaebum feels something in his own chest unknotting too.  “I know, Sseun-ah.  Mark-hyung told me.”

     “Ah,” Jackson hums.

     “I...wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.  Because of it.”

     Jackson lifts a shoulder in a shrug, before he reaches over to grab the beer from Jaebum’s hand and swallow some down.  It has Jaebum’s skin tingling, although he’s not sure whether it’s from the brush of their fingertips or the way a shred of light from the disco ball catches the apple of Jackson’s neck as he swallows. “I couldn’t _not_ come.  For that,” he adds, nodding his head towards where Bambam and Yugyeom are leading Youngjae down the hall to Bam’s bedroom, Yugyeom’s hand on Youngjae’s back and Youngjae’s hand in Bambam’s.  But then Jackson’s snorting, and taking another gulp of Jaebum’s beer before thrusting it back, nearly empty now, into Jaebum’s hand.  “And for that too, I guess.”

     Jaebum follows his gaze to Jinyoung and Mark. They’ve...progressed quickly, it seems. It’s not particularly surprising to Jaebum given how he’d feared the prospect of having to physically break them apart in the hallway when they’d met lest they jump each other, right there, and scar some innocent bystander (like Jaebum.  Mostly Jaebum).  Still, Jaebum has to raise a brow at how Jinyoung has Mark trapped predatorily against the wall, one hand planted beside his head as Mark just peers at him from coyly from beneath his eyelashes.

     “Mark’s been talking about him all afternoon,” Jackson tells him, eyes sparkling with mirth and amusement, and Jaebum thinks it might be okay, this whole Jinyoung-and-Mark thing, if it means Jackson gets this look in his eyes.  “I swear he made me sit through sixty-nine outfit changes before he settled on that one.”

     “Sixty-nine?” Jaebum says, lips quirking.

     Jackson just shrugs again, smiling devilishly and looking far, far too handsome.  “Call it a prediction for them for later tonight.”

     Jaebum chokes at that.  Jackson cackles some more, bumping his hip against Jaebum’s.

     Yeah.  Jaebum missed him.


	15. Revelling

     Jackson, as it turns out, is somewhat of a social butterfly.

     Jaebum really shouldn’t be surprised.  He’s become strikingly aware of the fact that socializing and talking is to Jackson what food is to...everyone else.  It keeps him going, energizes him and while Jaebum would be content to curl up with Nora for a day and just write music or watch Netflix, doing the same would probably drive Jackson stir-crazy because _where are the people, hyung?!  I want to be where the_ people _are._ Like an absurdly handsome, Chinese, bleached blond, buff male Ariel.

But still.  It still takes Jaebum aback, just the slightest, that Jackson seems to know literally _every single person_ who crowds Bambam’s apartment.

     It’s fairly quick that he’s pulled away by...somebody.  They’re in the middle of laughing at the way Mark’s cheeks flush pink and his jaw drops open as he stares at Jinyoung’s ass as he goes to get more beer, and Jackson makes some joke about Jinyoung’s peach that has Jaebum tossing his head back with a cackle.  But then a kid’s coming by, a kid with wild blond hair and dimples who greets Jackson as “hyung!” and who Jackson introduces as Jooheon before he’s being dragged away with an apologetic smile and a promise to be back soon.

     And Jaebum convinces himself that the disappointment he feels seeping into his stomach, then, is him having reached his limit for cheap beer.

     So Jaebum watches.  Contents himself with watching Jackson flit around the room, just settling into one conversation before he’s being dragged into another, and another, and another.  It would leave Jaebum _exhausted_ , leave the weariness heavy on his bones and tight in his shoulders and sapping away his patience, and it _does_ tire him just watching it. But he looks, and looks, and looks for any sign of exhaustion in Jackson.  And he sees nothing, nothing but a beaming grin and bright laughter and people melting in his warmth.

     Nothing but how Jackson will occasionally look back, and catch Jaebum’s eyes with a broad smile that has Jaebum melting too.

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum watches until Jackson finally manages to tug himself away and pull Jaebum into the kitchen with a hand on his wrist that sends his pulse skyrocketing.

     “Sorry about that, hyung,” he says with a lilted smile and further apologies in his eyes.  He fishes out a bottle of water from the fridge, offers another to Jaebum.

     “It’s fine.  You’re, ah...you’re a popular guy, aren’t you?”

     He just shrugs at that, uncapping his water and chugging it down in one solid go that has Jaebum purposefully diverting his eyes.  “I just like people.”

     And people like you too, Jaebum thinks.  How could they not?

     “I can tell,” is what he says instead.

     “They’re just...so interesting, you know?  How everyone’s different, with different things that make them tick, and different stories.  And how there’s always something new to learn about them.  And,” he adds, after a moment, with a knowing little smile on his face as he leans back against the counter to appraise Jaebum, “how sometimes you just don’t click with someone, yet with another person you can know them for only a few weeks but feel as though you’ve known them forever.”

     Jaebum fights against the blush that threatens to spill up his neck.  In his attempts to divert his gaze from anything other than how _good_ Jackson looks, his eyes land on the pictures on the refrigerator.  They’re mostly of Bambam and Yugyeom, Bambam and his parents, but Jaebum spies a couple with Jackson, a handful with Mark, and more than a few with Jaebum and Jinyoung. There’s one there, from one of the first weeks of Bambam living across the hall, when Bambam had shown up on a Sunday night during Jaebum and Jinyoung’s movie night for something - to print something, maybe? - and somehow invited himself to stay for the movie.  And Jaebum remembers it, remembers Bambam slotting himself into their dynamic like he was born to be there, remembers Bambam flopping between them and demanding a selfie and how tight his hug had been at the end of the night.

     It’d been the same with Jinyoung.  Jinyoung with his sharp tongue and sarcastic wit but warm, warm heart and endless caring.

     And God knows, it’d been the same with Jackson. However much Jaebum had tried to deny it.  However much he _tries_ to deny it.

     “- at me, hyung?”

     It startles Jaebum from his thoughts, so he blinks at Jackson.  The water bottle is empty in his hands, but is tossed back and forth, back and forth, with something that looks like nervousness.

     “Ah...sorry, I spaced out a bit.  Pardon?”

     There’s a tinge of ruefulness on the edge of Jackson’s smile, as the bottle goes back and forth, back and forth.  “I just...wanted to make sure you’re not mad at me.  You look kind of...distressed?”

     Jaebum finds his eyes moving back to the fridge, to the little photo-booth roll of Jackson and Bambam there.  Jaebum likes the last photo, especially, of Bambam no doubt squealing as Jackson presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek.  It makes him smile.  “I’m not mad at you.”

     “Are you...absolutely positive?”

     Jaebum’s lips quirk even as he reaches out, instinctively, to grab onto Jackson’s hand to still the bottle there.  “Absolutely positive, Sseun-ah.”

     “Not even a little?” Jackson asks, voice small in a way that Jaebum _hates_.

     “Not even a little.”

     Jackson shifts the bottle over again, just one more time, to free up his hand and intertwine his fingers through Jaebum’s. “Not even like...the teensiest bit?”

     “Sseun-ah.”

     It’s hard.  It’s so, so hard for Jaebum to school his tone into something gently admonishing when his hand feels like it’s on fire from how Jackson’s thumb sweeps across the back.

     “Sorry.”

     It’s quiet for a moment between them, then, as Jaebum contemplates his next words, and Jackson lets him.

     “If either of us has any right to be upset, it’s you.”

     There’s a tightness in Jaebum’s voice as he says it that Jackson clearly notices, because he tears his gaze from their joined hands to study Jaebum’s face.  And Jaebum hates it when he looks at him like this, so _intently,_ because it’s infinitely harder to _think._ “Me? What would I be upset for?”

     “I...you know.”

     Jackson just stares at him, eyes wide and head cocked and looking unfairly adorable.  “Uh...I don’t, hyung.”

     “For what...happened.  That day you picked me up?”

     “Oh.  It’s totally fine, hyung.  It’s not your fault.”

     It should relieve Jaebum.  It should, but instead it just feels like something in his stomach plummets.  “It entirely is.  I must’ve made you so uncomfortable.”

     “Well, yeah,” Jackson says with a nonchalant shrug. Jaebum’s heart feels like it freefalls in his chest.  “But that’s more my suppressants’ fault than yours.  It’s not like you intended to set off my cycle.”

     Jaebum feels like he’s been doused with ice cold water, left gasping and shaking and dumfounded.  “I...what?”

     Jackson’s thumb immediately stills, and his eyes widen like he just realized he made a critical, critical error.  “...What?”

     “What’re you talking about?”

     “Ah...what are _you_ talking about?”

     “What I said.  To you.  When you dropped me off at home.”

     “What you...oh.  I...oh.”  Jaebum can see, can _see_ , as the memories come back to Jackson, because there’s a rush of red that climbs from his jaw up his cheeks. “I mean,” he stammers out, squeezing Jaebum’s hand slightly, “I would never hold that against you, hyung.  You weren’t...in your right mind.”

     “What are _you_ talking about?”

     “Uhm,” Jackson mutters, looking sheepish.  “How being around you during your heat apparently made my suppressants go defunct?”

     Jaebum had thought he’d been mortified before.  But it’s nothing, _nothing_ , compared to the embarrassment that sweeps through his veins at that.  “I...Jackson.  Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

     “Hyung, it’s fine!  I promise it’s fine.  Don’t - “ He catches Jaebum’s arm as Jaebum starts to bow in apology, holds it firm.  “Please don’t do that.  It’s fine.”

     “You’ve been... _suffering_ this past week because of me.  Missing classes, missing fencing, missing God knows what else. It’s not fine.”

     “It is, hyung.  I promise.  I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”  There’s nothing but earnestness and sincerity painted across Jackson’s face, seeping from his voice, and the way he meets Jaebum’s eyes so directly, so deeply, has a bit of relief blossoming in Jaebum.  “If anything it made me happy,” Jackson adds, voice softening.  “That you felt you could rely on me.”

     Jaebum just lets out a deep breath, feeling the knots untangling and Jackson’s fingers tightening around his.

     He doesn’t know what to say.  Doesn’t think he could say anything even if he did know, because his chest feels oddly and uncomfortably tight. 

     So he just nods.  It’s enough, though, if how Jackson’s eyes crease when he smiles is any indication.

     “That creep hasn’t, ah...he hasn’t bothered you again, has he?”

     And despite himself, Jaebum feels an indulgent little smile creep onto his lips at how concerned yet bashful Jackson looks as he asks.  “He hasn’t, no.”

     “I hope I wasn’t overstepping, or anything, asking Mark to...look out for you,” Jackson continues, voice brisk and quick as he rocks a bit on his heels.  “I know you don’t need it, and you can take care of yourself, but ah...yeah.  I wasn’t really...thinking straight, probably. At the time.  Hormones and all.”

     “Been there,” Jaebum says, huffing out a laugh.

     “I didn’t know if it came off as like...overly protective or something.”

     A rush of fondness sweeps through Jaebum. He can’t help it, nor can he help how his smile broadens with it.  “It’s fine, Sseun-ah.  It was sweet.”

     Jackson puffs out a little relieved breath of air at that, cheeks puffing out and looking like an adorable little chipmunk and Jaebum feels like he’s dying.  “Sweet? Yeah?”

     Jaebum’s lungs don’t seem to be working properly, so he manages a curt nod in reply.  Still, it has Jackson beaming.  “Phew, okay.  I’m...glad, hyung.”

     “Are we good for apologies now?”

     Jackson laughs, high and tinkling and the last lingering knots in Jaebum’s stomach untwist.  “For now, Jaebummie,” he confirms with a wink.

     Jaebum’s narrowing his eyes and is .2 seconds away from coercing a hastily tacked-on “hyung” out of Jackson when the door to the kitchen swings open.

     “Ah...hi, hyungs,” Bambam stutters.

     He blushes.  He blushes, and Jaebum, eyeing said blush, the way Yugyeom looks like an abnormally tall deer caught in the headlights, and the way Youngjae rushes to smooth a hand over his suddenly wild hair, can only smirk.

     “Well?” Jackson immediately demands.

     Bambam’s blush deepens, and he looks to Yugyeom like he expects the alpha to do anything other than what he does, which is just stand like an idiotic statue, gaping at Jackson and Jaebum, mouth floundering like a fish out of water.  Youngjae isn’t of much aid either, it seems, eyes bashfully downcast and seeming to shrink behind Yugyeom and Bambam.

     But Bambam, shrugging, grabs Youngjae’s hand and just says, “You might want to avoid my apartment tonight.  Or for the next few days.”

     And that, of course, has Jackson squealing and pushing past Bambam to tackle Youngjae in a tight hug.

    Bambam skips over to Jaebum then, apparently not bothered by how Jackson is smothering Youngjae’s face with sloppy kisses that have the younger giggling, and slides into Jaebum’s arms. His breath is hot and a bit shaky when he whispers “Thank you, hyung,” into Jaebum’s ear.  Jaebum just squeezes him tightly in response, and nods at Yugyeom over Bambam’s shoulder.

     And it’s kind of cute, how the smile blooms across Yugyeom’s face as he nods in return.

 

 

 

 

     Of course, the moment they leave the kitchen, leaving Youngjae hastily slapping a hand over the hickey that Jackson spies on his neck and Bambam wiggling his eyebrows at Jaebum’s reminder that there’s no lock on the kitchen door, Jackson’s swept away into another conversation.

     Jaebum doesn’t mind.  Not really.  He’s too happy.

     The kids had been...so cute.  So wholesome and Jaebum is man enough to admit that it makes him feel a little teary.  Just a little.  Youngjae seems like a sweetheart, and the smile on Bambam’s face had been one of the happiest Jaebum’s seen and that, for him, is enough.

     But of course, at the edges of that overwhelming happiness, lingers a little worry.

     Polyamorous relationships are...not that common.  Frowned upon, when the societal emphasis is on mating, first, and love, second.  Bambam and Yugyeom together had been fine.  An alpha and an omega...if not a somewhat timid alpha and a boisterous and sexually-comfortable omega.  They made an unconventional pair, but a _pair_ nonetheless, and that was enough.

     But adding another omega to the mix, adding _Youngjae_ to the mix...Jaebum can’t help but worry.

     He can hear it now.  Can hear how Youngjae and Bambam will be accused of being promiscuous.  How Yugyeom will alternatively be praised for attracting two “bitches” and condemned for being greedy and stealing a breedable omega from another alpha.

     And while most of Jaebum worries about that, worries about the effect such criticism will have on the trio, worries about how it’ll chip and eat away at the love until it’s _not enough, not enough,_ there’s a small part of him that thinks...

     Let them.

     Let them criticize.  Let them condemn.  Because they’ll only have to face Bambam.  And Youngjae.  And Yugyeom. And Jackson and Mark and Jinyoung and _Jaebum_.  And while Jaebum can’t speak for the others, he knows he’d happily take on anyone who would dare to come after his friends.  His _family._

     The heat flares in Jaebum’s stomach before he sees Jinyoung approaching him and reigns it in.

     “And how is Mr. Im surviving his first foray out of his cave and into the world of socializing?  Haven’t fled yet, I see.”

     Jaebum doesn’t even bother sparing Jinyoung a glance. “Eh,” he shrugs, taking a sip of his water.  “It’s been a battle, but the free food makes it worthwhile.”

     “Is it really free when Bambam stole it from our kitchen?”

     Jaebum frowns contemplatively, before deciding, “I guess not.”

     “And I’m sure Jackson has nothing to do with the fact you’re still here?”

     Jinyoung’s voice does that thing, that stupid thing, where it slows into a drawl that tells Jaebum that Jinyoung is very much trying to get a rise out of him.  Jaebum takes another sip in the hopes it’ll chase the unease down his throat.  “Of course not.  Why would he?”

     It’s silent for a few moments, and knowing that a silent Jinyoung is never a good Jinyoung, Jaebum chances a glance. Jinyoung’s staring at him, one eyebrow quirked and head tilted and eyes amused.  “He keeps staring at you,” he says, in a mock-whisper.  “And it’s funny because every time I come to tell you that, I see you’re staring right back.”

    “He’s loud.  He attracts attention.”

    “Not the only thing he seems to attract.”

    Jaebum can’t help but glare at him now. “Like you can talk.  Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you’ve been dancing around Mark all night.  I’m surprised you don’t have him bent over the counter in the bathroom by now.”

    “Who’s to say he’d be the one bent over? And the bathroom?” Jinyoung challenges with a scoff.  “Hyung, please.  I do have a little class.”

     “Really?  Where? I haven’t seen it.”

     “It was right next to your social life, last I saw it.  But it’s been a while.”

     Jaebum can’t help it.  He huffs out a laugh at that.

     “I mean, you can’t blame me though,” Jinyoung continues, swirling his beer around in its cup and he gazes appreciatively across the room.  Jaebum follows his gaze, spies Mark in the corner of the room hastily averting his eyes as he talks with a clearly excited Youngjae.  “Anyone who says they look at _that_ and those _teeth_ and have PG-13 thoughts is lying.  And those _legs._ Wrap ‘em around me, _Daddy_.”

     “...Ew.”

     “Oh shut it.  Like your thoughts about Jackson are always PG-13.”

     Jaebum stiffens.  “We’re friends.  _Just_ friends.”

     “Mmhmm.  Sure you are. Tell me, hyung, do you moan out the names of all your friends when you master-“

     “I don’t like Jackson.  Not like that.”

     “And I don’t intend to be on my knees several times within the next 24 hours begging for some cock.  The lies we tell ourselves,” he adds dramatically and wistfully.

     Jaebum shudders at the mental image that prompts. A wholly unwelcome mental image for which Jaebum wants to drown him in the punchbowl.  “You are an actual menace to society.  And my sanity.”

     “Please, you’re presuming you have any sanity to menace.”

     “If I don’t have any sanity, it’s because I’ve been hanging around you for too long and-”

     “Ah...is everything okay over here?”

     Jackson eyes look a little scared as they bounce between Jaebum and Jinyoung.

     “Wang Gae!” comes Jinyoung’s delighted exclamation, and it makes Jaebum frown at him because _when the ever-loving hell did they get on a nickname basis?_  “Everything’s fine.  Just a typical Friday of questioning my life choices in befriending this poor sap.”

     “Just a typical Friday of reminding myself that murder is a crime so I don’t shove this one’s head in a microwave,” Jaebum adds.

     Jackson just blinks.  “Right.  Uhm... I was just gonna steal Jaebum-hyung away for a dance, if that’s cool.”

     And yep.  Jaebum definitely doesn’t imagine the way Jinyoung’s brow arches in such a typical _I told you so_ fashion that Jaebum wonders, idly, how he could convince Jinyoung to meet him in the kitchen. Or bring Bambam’s microwave out here? Maybe easier.

     “Fine by me,” Jinyoung replies smoothly. Jaebum hates him.

     “Mark-hyung’s in the kitchen,” Jackson tells him, eyes sparkling when they shift over to Jaebum to wink at him conspiratorially.  “If you were hoping to take advantage of this rare slow song.”

     Jinyoung just hums and, with a pointed and meaningful look towards Jaebum that has him reminding himself of how terrible prison is, he stalks through the bodies filling the living room.

     “Dance with me, hyungie?” Jackson asks then, eyes intent on Jaebum and Jaebum swears he feels his frustration at Jinyoung melting away.  Jackson’s head is cocked, just tilted to the side, eyes puppy dog-wide and Jaebum finds his resolve crumbling by the second.

     So he doesn’t object.  Just assents with a huff, a fond roll of his eyes, and a hand thrown into the one Jackson holds out with a gentlemanly bow and extravagantly dramatic flourish.

     Jaebum notes, briefly, that Jackson has since rolled the sleeves of his shirt into cuffs at his elbows.  It grants Jaebum a very nice image of _forearms_ before he manages to tear his gaze away with a thick swallow.

     Jackson leads him into the middle of the living room. Normally the protest would be surging on Jaebum’s tongue, but he finds he doesn’t mind it, so much, being in the midst of so many _people_ when Jackson’s with him.

     He doesn’t mind it, either, when Jackson tugs him close, closer than is probably “friend”-appropriate, winds his arms around Jaebum’s neck, and stares at him with one pointedly raised brow until Jaebum relents and drops his hands to rest on Jackson’s waist.

     It’s small, he thinks idly.  Smaller than one might think, looking at him.  But it’s still firm under his hands and -

     “You know,” Jackson murmurs, just barely loud enough to be heard over the music, and Jaebum is relieved, so _relieved_ , for the distraction.  His throat bobs a little as he swallows, eyes narrowing a bit and if Jaebum didn’t know better, he’d almost think Jackson was nervous. “I don’t think I mentioned how good you look tonight.”

     Jaebum shifts his gaze to meet Jackson’s.  It must be something with the lights, but his eyes look unusually warm.  Like molten chocolate, and Jaebum swears he feels himself drowning in it. “I...thanks.”

     “I especially like this,” Jackson continues, and Jaebum feels his fingers catch on the back of his collar.  It has electricity shooting down Jaebum’s spine from where his fingertips graze the back of Jaebum’s neck, has the hairs there standing straight up.  “It suits you.”

     Jaebum lets out a breathless little laugh.  “Bambam’s idea.”

     Jackson hums, like he’d expected that answer, before his smile sharpens a bit at the edges.  “I’ll have to thank him,” he says, eyes glinting in a way that has Jaebum feeling oddly off balance.  “And you too, I guess, for leaving so many buttons on your shirt undone.  Bambam’s work too, I presume?”

     Jaebum swallows, feeling warm as Jackson’s eyes make an overt journey from his face down his neck, to linger on his mostly exposed chest.  “Ah yeah,” Jaebum admits sheepishly.  “I figured I’d fix it when he was distracted but I forgot and - “

     The moment Jaebum’s hands retreat from Jackson’s waist to button his shirt a bit more, Jackson’s fingers cuff around his wrists.  “You don’t have to do that,” Jackson says, voice low and a bit rough, and something in Jaebum’s stomach coils.  “I mean, you can if you want to but,” Jackson pauses to squeeze Jaebum’s hands, ever so gently, before they’re retreating back to wind their way around Jaebum’s neck.  “I wouldn’t complain if you left it as is.  It looks...good.  Very chic and sexy,” he adds suddenly with a disarmingly beautiful grin.

     Jaebum hopes that the room is dark enough, the light low enough, to hide the blush Jaebum feels rising to his face.

     “They look good together,” Jackson says, suddenly.

     Jaebum isn’t sure who he’s talking about, until they spin a little and he sees Bambam, Youngjae, and Yugyeom, arms tangled as they try to slow dance with three people.  Yugyeom keeps laughing, that weird cackle of his rising above the slow tempo, as Youngjae seems to step on his feet and Bambam keeps trying to...do that backpack dance thing that frankly confuses Jaebum.  At one point he hipchecks another couple, sending the girl nearly flying, and Youngjae’s laughter rings high and bright.

     Jaebum wonders if he sees, now, how much pure affection lies in how Bambam and Yugyeom gaze at him.

     “They do,” Jaebum affirms fondly.  “I’m glad it turned out how Bambam was hoping.”

     “How Bambam...” Jackson trails off, before the confusion in his eyes gives way to a spark of recognition.  “Oh!  Well, they look good together too, but I was talking about another pair.  Here, we’ll just turn a bit...”  And as Jackson shifts around him, Jinyoung and Mark come into view.

     “Good” isn’t exactly the word that immediately comes to Jaebum’s mind, when he sees them together.  Dangerous is one.  Concerning and R-rated are others.  Particularly with how Jinyoung’s hands are already wrapped possessively around Mark’s waist, dipping into the back pockets to cop a very indiscreet feel while Mark’s fingers find a home in Jinyoung’s hair.  Their “dancing” entails far more grinding than Jaebum is comfortable with.

     Jaebum’s pretty sure he sees Jinyoung’s leg dip in between Mark’s, and immediately decides to look away.

     “That concerns me,” Jaebum admits.  “Jinyoung doesn’t need any encouragement on being a pain in the ass.”

     “Well,” Jackson starts, running his fingers through the little hairs on the back of Jaebum’s neck in a way that has Jaebum suddenly understanding why Nora purrs so loudly when he scratches behind her ear. “If it’s any consolation, I think he’s more focused right now on _getting_ a pain in the ass than _being_ one.”

     Jackson just laughs at the way Jaebum winces, and squeezes him a little tighter.

     “Also, if it makes you feel better, neither of them have anything on us, though.  Nobody could compete with J-Flawless and Mr. Chic-and-Sexy.”

     _That_ shocks Jaebum enough that he stops dancing entirely, coming to an abrupt standstill in the middle of the room.  “J-Flawless?”

     Who needs a disco ball, Jaebum thinks, when your smile is as bright as Jackson Wang’s.  “Jackson-Flawless.  J-Flawless. Aren’t I flawless, Jaebummie-hyung?”

    And that smile is joined by an equally bright laugh when Jaebum’s head drops with a sigh.  Jackson just gathers him up, fitting his shoulder underneath Jaebum’s forehead and holds him, as the lights dance around them and his body shakes with the force of his giggles.

     Flawless.

     Jaebum thinks Jackson might be right about that.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum finally, _finally_ , finds himself tucking into bed at one o’clock in the morning. He hums a little as he does it, and it’s not infrequently that he catches a glimpse of himself in his mirror to find himself smiling.

     Sue him.  It’s been a good night.

     Because of said humming, he doesn’t hear the notification of his first message.  He hears the second, though, and pulls the covers up to his chin and tries to coerce a bit more of his pillow from under Nora, despite the plaintive meow it earns him.

     By the time he fumbles for his phone on his bedside table, it’s alit with six messages.

 

**Wang-Puppy**

_Uh...hyung?_

_I really hope ur awake_

_Sry if ur not_

_But I need someone to complain 2_

_And also a couch_

_I don’t suppose urs is free?_

Jaebum sits up with a frown.

 

**Jaebum**

_It is._

_What’s wrong?_

**Wang-Puppy**

_Mind if I borrow it?_

_I just got home to find my roommate bending ur roommate over the kitchen table_

_Gordon Ramsey would NOT approve_

_Actually, if u had some bleach to go with that couch, that’d be super fucking great_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting so patiently for me. 💚
> 
> Coming up next chapter...an important revelation, and shit hits the fan. Welp.


	16. Floating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!
> 
> I know, this is a quicker update than usual...and probably than will ever happen again. But this chapter is a big one, and got stuck in my brain demanding to get out. So here we are! I hope you enjoy. <3

     “...right on the table?”

     “Right on the fucking table.”

     “...I guess it is literally a fucking table now, isn’t it?”

     “Hyung.  Please.  I’m in the middle of a crisis, this is no time for lame dad jokes.”

     “Sorry.”

     To say that Jackson is traumatized would seem, to Jaebum, to be an understatement.  Especially with how he’s currently just sprawled out, face-down, on Jaebum’s floor.  Jaebum’s trying - he _really_ is - to take him seriously, but it’s hard with how Jackson’s voice keeps getting muffled in the carpet and how his body will occasionally spasm in horror like a seizing starfish.

     “On the counter too, I think,” he groans, sounding absolutely horrified.  “Because everything was, like, suspiciously cleaned off of it.  And dumped onto the floor.  I’ll never be able to make smoothies there again.”

     Jaebum nudges a socked toe against Jackson’s thigh in what is, in all honesty, a shitty attempt at comforting him.  “There there,” he soothes.

     “If I find cum on my Squirtle cookie jar, I’ll kill them.  I actually will.  He doesn’t deserve such horror and disrespect.”

     It takes effort, _a lot of effort_ , for Jaebum to bite back the laugh.

    Jackson turns his head then, smushing his cheek to the carpet so he can peer up dolefully at Jaebum, where he sits on the couch.  “Would you help me hide the bodies, hyung?  You’re the only one I can rely on now.  Now that Mark’s dead to me.”

     Jaebum nods with a mock seriousness.  “Sure, Sseun-ah.”

     Jackson just nods once before turning his face back into the carpet with a shudder and a wailed, “They didn’t even leave a sock on the door!  Like, who _does_ that?”

     “Mark-hyung and Jinyoung, evidently.”

     “This...this must be payback.  For something.  I just...don’t know what I did to deserve such cruelty.”

     Jaebum ponders it for a moment.  “To be fair, Jinyoung’s just an asshole.  He likes making people suffer.  Takes a perverse joy from it, really.”

     “Well, he made _me_ suffer,” Jackson grumbles, rolling over to curl on his side and clutch Jaebum’s foot to his chest.  It makes him look like a puppy begrudgingly playing with its new toy.  “There are a lot of things in the world I want to see, hyung.  Like...like the Taj Mahal.  Wonder of the world and all.  But now, if I ever go there, this is all I’ll see.  This will haunt me, will taint my vision _forever._ ”

     Jaebum can’t hold back his snort at that, and it earns him a pout that has a well of fondness surging in his chest.  “Don’t you think you might be being...just a _little_ dramatic, Sseun-ie?”

     Jackson just levels him an icy stare.  “Don’t talk to me about being “dramatic” until you’ve come home after a long day, a long _week_ , to find your roommate hammering into your new friend.  And the sounds.  Oh god, the _sounds,_ hyung.  _Oh, fuck, Mark-hyung, right there_!” Jackson says, pitching his voice in an eerily accurate impression of Jinyoung, and the speed at which the blood rises to Jaebum’s cheeks is Olympic, really.  “ _Harder, harder, harder -“_

     “Okay,” Jaebum all but gasps, because Jackson...Jackson shouldn’t be allowed to sound like that.  To say those things, in such a voice, because it’s making Jaebum’s blood apparently lose its sense of direction and start its trek to a tremendously dangerous and _inappropriate_ place.  “Okay, that’s enough.”

     “Bet you that’s one thing _Jinyoungie_ won’t be saying tonight.”

     Damn it.  Damn it, Jackson’s so cute when he’s irritated.  It does funny things to Jaebum’s heart.  “Probably not.”

     They just sit like that, for a moment, Jackson cradling Jaebum’s foot very oddly and Jaebum looking at him with far more affection than he should feel.  “Do you have fencing practice in the morning?”

     Jackson groans.  “Yeah.  At the spectacularly absurd time of 8:30, since competitions are coming up.”

     “You should go to bed then.  Get some sleep.”

     “ _Try_ to sleep.  And probably fail.  Or have nightmares.”

     And Jaebum’s sigh can’t even overcome the smile that plays on his lips.  “Or sleep like a baby.  Those bags under your eyes look ready to swallow you whole.”

     “Well aren’t you just a fucking charmer,” Jackson grumbles, finally releasing Jaebum’s foot to rise to his feet.  “Just point me to the extra blanket and I’ll be out of your hair.”

     Jaebum pauses.  “Extra blanket?”

     “Uh...yeah?  Unless you don’t have one.  Which is cool.  I have my sweater I can curl up in, that’s fine.”

     “No, it’s...you’re taking my bed, so you won’t need the...extra blanket.”

     Jackson blinks owlishly at Jaebum.  “I’m not taking your bed.”

     Jaebum blinks back.  “Yes, you are.  I changed the sheets and stuff already, so - “

     “No.  No, the sheets aren’t the issue,” Jackson laughs, and it’s almost hysterical in a way that has Jaebum mildly concerned.  “I’m not taking your bed, hyung.  You’re not sleeping out here, with your back - “

     “Well I’m not letting you sleep out here.  You’re my guest, and you need a restful night and this couch is...it’s a shitty couch, Jackson.  I wouldn’t let _Nora_ sleep out here.”

     Jackson raises one brow at him, propping a hand on his hip.  “So why should I let _you_ sleep out here?”

     ...Shit.

     “Just...” Jackson sighs, running a hand tiredly through his hair.  The motion has the blonde sticking up, wildly and in multiple directions, and Jaebum doesn’t try to stop himself from reaching out his own hand to smooth the strands back down.  “Jinyoungie’s bed?  Since the bastard clearly isn’t using it tonight.”

     “Ah...I’d advise against it.  For your own personal safety.  Last I saw, it was full of scripts he wouldn’t let me touch.”

     They stand there.  Looking at each other.  Thinking. Trying to figure out how to coerce the other into taking the bed.  Until there’s a voice, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Jaebum’s, that suddenly blurts out, “We could share?”

     It doesn’t just sound like Jaebum’s. Because as Jackson blinks at him, Jaebum realizes it _was_ Jaebum’s.

     What...the fuck.

     But before Jaebum can sputter out some half-assed excuse or retraction, or try to save his ass, like, even a little, Jackson is angling his head with a small, “Are you sure, hyung?”

     Which...valid question.

     Jaebum knows he...shouldn’t.  Share a bed.  With Jackson.  Not with how every minute he spends with Jackson has him becoming infinitely more...fond of him.  And how sharing a bed with him, being so _close_ to him, waking up _beside_ him would probably make Jaebum combust.  Into a billion little irretrievable particles.

    There’s a line, Jaebum knows, when it comes to how far he can take things with Jackson before everything just...falls apart.  And Jaebum’s been treading that line, tiptoeing across it like it’s a tightrope and Jaebum can feel himself on the precipice of tumbling over.

     But...Jaebum can handle it.  Maybe.  Probably?  Friends can share beds and remain _just_ friends.  He’s shared beds with Bambam, with Jinyoung, and he’s never awakened with any sudden burning surge to rip off their clothes or father their children (which...ew).

     Jaebum decidedly ignores the fact that there are moments, _now_ , in which he wouldn’t be opposed to the notion of seeing Jackson without a shirt.  Or without...other articles of clothing.  For purely scientific purposes.

     It’ll be fine.  Friends can sleep in the same bed.  They _do_ sleep in the same bed.  And him and Jackson are just friends.

     Just friends.  It'll be fine.

     So Jaebum nods resolutely, like the good friend he is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

     Of course, good friends probably don’t have the kind of thoughts that race through Jaebum’s mind at the sight of Jackson’s face mere inches away from his.

     Good friends probably don’t have the kind of thoughts that Jaebum has, seeing Jackson in clothes borrowed from Jaebum’s dresser.

     The grey t-shirt dwarfs Jackson, hanging big on his frame and making him just look...cute.  Unfairly fucking cute.  But the sweatpants, of course, cling to Jackson’s thighs in ways that...yeah.  Jaebum isn’t thinking about because such thoughts would be decidedly _not_ those of a good “just friend.”

    Jackson had refused to borrow a pair of Jaebum’s socks though, complaining about _the need to maintain circulation, hyung!_ So Jaebum jolts a bit and swears under his breath when there’s the sudden sensation of ice between his calves.

     “Sorry,” Jackson says, looking not _at all_ sorry as he just burrows his feet into the warmth of Jaebum’s legs.

     “Jesus, Sseun-ah, your feet are like ice cubes.”

     “You know what they say, hyung.  Cold hands, warm heart.”

     “Which is great, but it’s your _feet,_ Sseun-ah, not your hands.”

     “Feet, hands.  Same difference.”

     “Is it, though?”

     “Sure.  Both useful attachments to appendages.”

     “Uh-huh.  So you’re saying if I had feet for hands, and hands for feet, you wouldn’t be bothered?  Like, at all?”

     “Nope.  Great conversation starter, really.  Don’t worry, hyung, I’d still love you.”

     The breath seems to freeze in Jaebum’s lungs at that as _love, love, love you_ rings in his ears.

     He looks at Jackson.  Jackson, where he lies in Jaebum’s bed, in his sheets.  Jackson, whose head is on Jaebum’s pillow, inches away from _Jaebum_ ’s, and whose eyes look starry and bright even though they’re only illuminated from the streetlight as it shines like a beacon through the window.

     The light casts over his face, leaving shadows in its wake that carve out those cheekbones further, sharpen his jaw.

     Jaebum thinks he looks so, so beautiful.  Almost unreal.  Ethereal.

     Jackson doesn’t seem to care, or maybe even notice, what he’d said, or how Jaebum had froze, or how Jaebum can’t seem to focus on anything but how this seems like a dream.  He just huffs out a little content sigh as his verging-on-hypothermic feet suck all the warmth from Jaebum’s, and snuggles a bit more into the sheets.

     Jaebum’s sheets.

    Jaebum wonders if his sheets will, tomorrow, smell like Jackson.  Wonders if his scent will cling to them, and for how long.  Jaebum doesn’t think he’d be opposed, if it did.  Even though it does seem a bit...spicier, now.  Probably the result of Jackson’s new suppressants, he muses, but it remains as comforting and as soft and as soothing as before.

     Jackson yawns, so widely and hugely Jaebum has an idly passing concern for his jaw.  “Any plans for tomorrow, hyung?”

     _Probably have about fourteen panic attacks after you leave_ , Jaebum wants to say.   _Just because._ “Not really.  Study?  Finals are coming up.”

     “Mmm,” Jackson hums.  His eyelids keep drooping, before they snap open and it sits thick in Jaebum’s chest how precious it is that Jackson seems so intent on staying awake so they can just...talk.  “You could come to my practice tomorrow.  If you found yourself bored at...8:30 in the morning.”

     Jaebum snorts.

     “I’d like it if you came, sometime,” Jackson continues.  His voice is a murmur, just the lowest of murmurs, and it’s so _intimate_ and heart-breakingly _domestic_ that Jaebum finds something uncomfortable welling in his throat.  “It’s important to me.  You are too.”

     Jaebum doesn’t think it’s ever been so hard, so strikingly difficult, to just _breathe._

He should...say something.  _You’re important to me, too.  Thank you, Sseun-ah.  Of course I’ll come._ But he can’t.  The words crawl up his throat only to die on his tongue, leaving a sour taste in his mouth as he just looks, and looks, and looks at Jackson as she slowly, gradually, falls asleep.  His breath evens out, deepens a little, and the rise and fall of his chest becomes a bit more pronounced under the sheets.

     One of his hands is curled up, loosely, in front of his chest.

     It softens, relaxes, when Jaebum places a hand over it.

 

 

 

 

 

     It’s still dark when Jaebum awakens.

     He blinks wearily and groggily, unsure of why he’s awake.  Unsure of what’s amiss.  It’s silent in the little apartment, _too_ silent without Jinyoung’s snores from the other side of the wall, but it’s only when Jaebum rolls over to smash his face into the pillow with a groan that he smells _Jackson_ and remembers.

     The bed is empty beside him.

     Jackson’s not there.  Where he had laid beside Jaebum is now an empty expanse of sheets, and when Jaebum runs a hand over them, they’re cool.

     Jaebum’s not sure why his first instinct is to worry.

     He crawls out of bed, finds his slippers in the dark and toes into them.  He’s been living in this apartment long enough to know where the creaky floorboards are, and he thinks Nora would be proud of how silent he is as he pads his way down the hall.

     He finds Jackson in the living room.  He’s curled up on the couch with his knees tucked beneath his chin, looking... _small_.  And knowing Jackson is anything but a small presence, anything but small physically, the unease in Jaebum’s stomach multiplies.

     “You know, I agreed to share my bed to avoid you spending the night on a shitty couch.  Yet here you are.”

     Jackson seems to startle a bit at his voice, before his eyes meet Jaebum’s.  It’s dark, dark but for the soft blue of the show that plays on the television, something that looks like an exploration of some sea.  The shifting lights play across Jackson’s face so, so beautifully, and Jaebum can’t help it, can he, that it makes his chest ache a little. “Sorry,” Jackson says finally, voice deep and rough, a little, from sleep, and the hint of a smile that plays over his lips seems so...intimate and familiar that that ache only grows.  “Woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. Didn’t want to disturb you, so.”

     Jaebum nods.  “Something on your mind?”

     Jaebum’s not sure if it’s just a trick of the lighting, but Jackson’s eyes seem to deepen and darken, something within them shifting, as they stay steady on his.  “You could say that.”

     Jaebum stifles a yawn in his shoulder, before shuffling towards Jackson.  “Anything you want to talk about?”

     He stops in front of Jackson, and as Jackson looks up at him, eyes reflecting the cerulean blue of the sea and some unreadable emotion, Jaebum wants so badly, _so badly_ , to just reach out and run his fingertips across the planes of that face, to soothe the little lines of tension between Jackson’s brows.  But he doesn’t.  He can’t, so he just smiles at Jackson, just a little one to let him know that he’s not alone, even though he looks so, so lonely.  “Nah,” Jackson says finally.  There’s a wall there, just behind his eyes, that has Jaebum swallowing thickly.  “But thanks.”

     “You should come back to bed.  Try to get some sleep.  You have an early start tomorrow.”

     “Yeah.  Yeah, I do.  But I think I’ll just...stay here, for a bit longer.  To try to settle my mind a bit, you know?”

     Jaebum’s hands still long, still _hurt_ with the need to touch, so he settles for clasping one on Jackson’s shoulder, squeezing it a little.  He tries to ignore how the contact has something settling in his stomach. “Okay.  But not too long, okay?  You need your rest.”

     Jackson just brings his hand up to cover Jaebum’s on his shoulder, patting it once, twice, before he drops it with a minute smile and a nod.

     Noting the wall, and the slight dismissiveness of the pat, Jaebum resigns to trudging back to his bedroom.

     “Hey, hyung?”

     Jaebum stops.

     “You ever feel like you’re just...floating aimlessly?  On the sea?”

     Jaebum turns.  Jackson’s eyes are latched onto the television screen, but his gaze is so distant that he seems to look without really watching.   

     “Is this about fencing?”

     Jackson laughs, a little self-deprecating laugh that feels, for some reason, like a knife in Jaebum’s chest.  “No.  It’s not.”

     Jackson’s eyes flicker back to his.  There’s something in them, something lingering at the corners, that makes Jaebum feel like he’s...missing something.  Feeling lost and dazed and confused, Jaebum approaches him, drops onto the couch beside him.  “It’s like,” Jackson continues on the tail of a sigh, and it's almost violent, the way he unfurls his legs and slides one ankle under his knee, “I know what I want.  I see land, you know?  But I...I don’t know how to get there.  I don’t know if I should even _try_ to get there.  So I just keep...looking.  Thinking.  Dreaming.  Hoping I’ll get some sign that I’d be...welcome.”

     Jaebum’s lost.  He’s so, so lost.  But he can see that Jackson is too, so while his “I’m sure you would be” is quiet, it’s there nonetheless.

     “I don’t know, this isn’t the best metaphor,” Jackson scoffs.  “Because here, the...decision is irreversible, you know?  Like, if I decide to go, I can’t...come back.  I’d be there, forever, even if things didn’t...work out.  So I’m afraid to go, in case things _don’t_ work out, and then I’d be stuck there.  And if that’s the case, then I’d rather just stay where I am and keep looking.  Keep thinking.  Keep dreaming.  Because even a dream is better than nothing, if that’s what I’d end up getting.”

     “But there’s...no guarantee you’d get nothing.  Right?  You could end up with something.”

     “Oh, hyung,” Jackson sighs, and his eyes look _wet_ when he looks at Jaebum.  “I could end up with _everything._ ”

     “Then maybe it’s...worth it?  Trying for it.  Otherwise you’ll just end up always floating, and that’s...that’s no way to live, Sseun-ah.”

     Jackson’s breath is audibly shaky, rattling in his rib cage as it tumbles out.  “Maybe.”

     Jackson’s eyes turn back to the television screen.  Jaebum’s follow.  And on it, there’s a dingy, a red rubber dingy, taking on water from a gash in its bottom.

     Jaebum hopes, desperately prays, that Jackson has a better fate.

     “Would you...stay out here?  With me, hyung?”

     Jaebum finds his knee blindly with his hand, squeezes it.  “If you want, Sseun-ah.”

     So Jaebum does.  Eventually, after a yawn tears itself through Jaebum, Jackson manages to coerce him to lie down.  Jackson ushers Jaebum’s head into his lap, claiming it to be better for Jaebum’s back to have his head elevated like that.  But the way Jackson keeps looking at him, and the way Jackson’s fingers comb through his hair, have Jaebum wondering if there’s some other reason before he falls asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

     When Jaebum wakes up again, he’s back in his bed.

     Alone.  But after last night, Jaebum isn’t particularly surprised.

     He  _is_ surprised, however, by the force of Jackson’s smile when he greets Jaebum with an omelet fresh from the stove.  “Good morning, hyung!  Perfect timing!”

     Jaebum blinks at him.  “Morning, Sseun-ah.”

     “I, ah...” Jackson starts, wiping his hands a bit nervously on his pants - his jeans, from yesterday, Jaebum notices.  “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

     “You didn’t.”

     “Good!  That’s good.”  Jackson pauses to clear his throat, and it’s now, only now, that Jaebum realizes that the cheerfulness seems a little...forced, cracking a bit at the edges.  “I, uhm...put your shirt and sweatpants in the laundry.  Thanks for those, by the way.  And I was...just going to put this in the fridge for you.  For later.  But since you’re up now, well...here.”

     Yep.  Jackson’s clearly nervous, because he fumbles the plate, nearly sending it tumbling when he goes to pass it to Jaebum.  The high-pitched laugh he complements it with is another prime suggestion that something is _wrong._

The feeling only mounts as they eat.  Because Jackson...

     Jackson is _quiet._

Quieter than Jaebum’s seen him, and it’s odd, because Jackson is many things.  He’s loud and exuberant and boisterous and cheerful and somewhat like a hurricane that always makes Jaebum’s head spin.

     But this morning, he’s quiet.  Kind of like the calm before the storm.

     Jaebum lets him think.  He can’t do much else, really, not when Jaebum keeps trying to start conversations and Jackson seems to visibly startle, flush rising pink on his cheeks before he apologizes and asks Jaebum to repeat what he’d said.  His answers are abrupt, abrupt and short, and they’re followed by another long stretch of silence in which Jaebum can do little else but keep glancing and frowning as Jackson falls into his thoughts again, shifting the omelet around his plate.

     They wash and dry the dishes, side by side.  Every once in a while, as Jaebum reaches for a plate or utensil to dry, his hand will brush against Jackson's, and Jaebum can’t help but notice, can’t help the little stab of pain in his chest, when Jackson jumps a little at the contact.  Or when he startles and his breath catches when Jaebum reaches across him to drop the wooden spoon into its holder beside the sink.

     It’d be cute.  It’d be cute, if it wasn’t so...distressing and worrisome.

     Jaebum should ask.  Should Jaebum ask?  Jackson’s brows are knit, into a tight line of worry, and his frown keeps making Jaebum want to smooth away the creases that line his mouth with the pad of his thumb.  His shoulders are high, high and firm in a way that looks almost defensive, although Jaebum can’t think, for the life of him, why they’d look that way.

     He should ask.  To see if he can help.  To see if he can offer any...relief, from the internal war that is clearly waging inside Jackson.

     Turns out, he doesn’t have to.

     “Hey, hyung?” Jackson asks suddenly, still standing beside the sink.  “Do you...do you have a minute?”

     And the relief that sweeps through Jaebum almost, _almost_ has him smiling.  “Of course, Sseun-ah.”

     “I wanted to ask you something,” he continues, fingers drumming against the countertop.  “Tell you, more like.”

     And the seriousness on Jackson’s face, in his eyes, has Jaebum pausing.  “Okay.”

     Jackson takes a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself and the fact that he does so, that he feels like he _has_ to, has Jaebum’s stomach plummeting.

     “I like you, hyung.”

     Jaebum just stares at him.  “I like you too, Sseun-ah.”

     Jackson shakes his head, almost frantically. “No, hyung.  I _like_ you.”

     “Yes, Sseun-ah, so you said.  And I like you too.”

     “ _No_ , hyung,” Jackson says, and his voice sounds...panicked.  Panicked a way that has Jaebum’s heart accelerating, so quick he almost feels lightheaded, because he just feels, deep in his gut, that something is about to go horribly wrong.  “You...you’re my island.”

     Jaebum doesn’t think he’s ever been so confused in his life.  “Your...what?”

     Jackson just sighs, looking like he wants to ram his head into the cabinets.

     Instead, though, he inhales sharply before moving his face towards Jaebum’s.

     It all happens so...quick.  It’s so, so quick that Jaebum sees - and feels - Jackson’s face suddenly approaching his.  It’s so, so quick that it dawns on Jaebum with a startling clarity that, _fuck_ , that’s _what Jackson meant._

And it’s so, so quick that Jaebum’s hand reaches out to plant itself on Jackson’s chest and push.

     Jackson shudders back.  Just a few steps, but it feels like miles.

     The look on his face is...hurt.  Pure and simple and unbridled _pain_ , and as much as Jaebum feels sick, feels physically _ill_ from causing it, that sensation buries itself beneath the overwhelming panic that surges through him.

     He can only stare at Jackson, as his heartbeat thunders in his ears.  “What...” he stammers out, and it shakes, shakes like his chest and his knees and his hands are all shaking.   “What the _fuck_?”

     “Hyung, I -"

     Jaebum silences him with a curtly raised hand.  Silences him so quickly and abruptly that Jackson looks like he’s been slapped.

     Jaebum feels like he’s been slapped too.

     “I think you should leave.”

     Jackson’s cheeks bloom red, and he looks ashamed even as he takes a step forward.  He stops, though, abruptly, when he sees Jaebum take a hasty retreating step back, and just stands there, looking lost.  “Hyung, you...you don’t understand.”

     “You’re right,” Jaebum replies, and it’s cold, _so cold_ , that it startles even himself.  “I don’t.”

     “Well let me tell you, then,” Jackson says, voice small and pleading and Jaebum feels the gash in his heart as it bleeds, and bleeds, and bleeds.  “I...like you so much, hyung.  _So_ much.  I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone how I like you.”

     No.  No, no, _no._ “You don’t -“

     “I do,” Jackson interrupts.  His voice is still small, but so resolute as Jaebum continues to bleed out in his kitchen.  Jaebum crosses his arms in front of him, hoping it’ll make his chest feel less like it’s _falling apart._ It doesn’t.  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.  Hyung, I...you just fascinate me.  I know that sounds weird,” he adds with a meek laugh, “but you _do._ You make me smile and laugh and feel so, so frustrated with your stupid jokes and emotional ineptitude but...I don’t mind, hyung.  I like making people happy, but I _love_ making you happy.  And...I love how you make _me_ happy.”

     Jaebum can’t breathe.  Can’t think, can barely hear, over the soaring of blood in his ears. “You make me happy when you laugh, hyung.  You’re so beautiful when you laugh, when you tilt your head back and just _laugh._ I feel like I’m doing something right, something _good_ , when I can make you laugh.  I want to hear it all the time, like I find myself thinking about it all the time.  And you make me happy when you talk to me and when you listen to me, because I talk a lot, God _knows_ I talk a lot, but I feel like so few people actually _listen_.  But you...you always listen, hyung.”

     He needs to stop.  He needs to stop, so Jaebum’s hands can stop shaking and he can feel a little less like he's just crumbling apart.

     “And you care.  You care so much, and it makes me feel so warm inside.  And I love how passionate you are, about your friends and your music and _everything_ , and how fierce and loyal and brave you are.  You make me feel...safe, hyung.  Safe and comfortable and so, so lucky.”  His smile dims a bit, though, as his eyes track down to Jaebum’s arms, latched protectively around himself, trying to hold himself together.  “But I’m not lucky, am I, hyung?  Not as much as I need to be.”

     Nobody’s lucky, Jaebum realizes.  Not here, not in this situation.

     “I think you should leave,” Jaebum repeats.

     And the guilt surges, surges, surges, almost electric, at the heartbreak that lies plain across Jackson’s face when he nods.

     It doesn’t take him long to collect his things.  Everything’s packed already, into a backpack.  Like he’d known, like he’d prepared, for this outcome ahead of time.

     Maybe he had.  Probably, he had.

     “I’m sorry,” Jackson says quietly, as he stands by Jaebum’s door, one hand on the knob.  Jaebum can’t move, hasn’t been able to tear his feet from where they’re rooted in front of the sink.  “I thought you wanted this.  I thought you wanted....me.”

     _I do.  I do.  I do._

_I can’t._

“I don’t.”

     And Jaebum can hear, all the way from the kitchen, Jackson’s sharp intake of breath.  But he just nods.  Once, firmly, before he’s disappearing from Jaebum’s apartment, probably from Jaebum’s _life,_ leaving behind only the small click of the door and an overwhelming tension.

     Jaebum feels like he’s drowning.

     His inability to breathe is so acute, so immense, that he slides down the cabinets to sit on the floor.  He keeps gasping for air, but his chest feels too tight, his lungs too small, and his stomach keeps rolling and rolling and rolling.

     He shoves his head between his knees, and realizes, somewhere in the back of his consciousness, that this must be what a panic attack feels like.

     He stays there for nearly fifteen minutes. That’s how long it takes him to get his breathing back under control, to feel like he won’t vomit at his first motion.

     His chest still hurts when he stands.  His knees still shake, and his head still swims through the lightness.

     In what feels like a daze, he stumbles over to the couch.  Thinks about last night, about _Jackson_ and floating and fingers weaving through his hair.  Thinks and fumbles to turn on the television, for some distraction.  Any distraction.

     And as it sparks to life, it shows a red rubber dingy.  With a hole in the bottom and taking on water and the land hovering, a beacon of promise and hope and safety, in the background.

     His fingers are stiff as they fumble with the remote.  He just manages to turn the television off before he’s hurling the remote to shatter against the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...probably not the revelation you might have had in mind, or perhaps were hoping for. 😭


	17. Breaking

     Jaebum sits there, on the couch, staring at the remote where it lays shattered against the wall.

     Broken.  Like he feels.

     It’s the right decision.  It is.  He can’t be with another omega, so he can’t be with Jackson.  It’s simple.

     It doesn’t feel simple though.  It doesn’t feel _right._

Nothing feels right about the guilt that swirls in his gut, creeping up to restrict his chest and make his head spin.  Nothing feels right about how his throat is tight and every time he blinks, he sees Jackson’s heart breaking in front of his eyes, underneath the sharp edges of Jaebum’s own words and the weight of his dismissiveness and rejection.

     Nothing feels right about how devastated Jackson had looked, and how devastated Jaebum _feels._

How can something that’s apparently right feel so, so, _so_ wrong?

     He sits there until the early afternoon, when Jinyoung comes home.

     He comes home, wearing a broad smile and barely-disguised limp and yesterday’s rumbled, haphazardly buttoned clothing. He comes home with a bright, “How did you not tell me Mark-hyung is a _gymnast_ , hyung?  I mean, what a pleasant surprise, though.”

     The smile fades, slips from his face, when he sees Jaebum.

     “Nyoung-ah,” Jaebum croaks, voice cracking and disintegrating like the rest of him, and Jinyoung’s there in a heartbeat, gathering Jaebum into his arms when he finally, finally breaks.

     He cries for what feels like hours, soaking through Jinyoung’s shirt even as Jinyoung pets his hair and rocks him back and forth.  He doesn’t cry over much, but he cries over this.  Over Jackson.  Over Jackson and Jaebum and _if only, if only, if only._

He wonders if his parents’ rejection would taste as sour in his mouth as this does.  Somehow, he doubts it.

     So he cries more, over the part of him that starts to think that maybe, maybe, he just fucked everything up.

 

 

 

 

 

     The days pass, slowly, yet in a blur.

     He knows he’ll be fine.  He’s been without Jackson before.  He lived without him, without any knowledge of him, until weeks ago.  And he was fine, all that time.

     He can’t help but think, though, that “fine” sucks.  Especially in comparison to what he’s been, these past weeks.

     He’s been...he’s been _happy_.  He’s laughed more than he remembers doing in a long time.  Smiled more too.  Felt more...content, at ease.

     _Happy._

The problem, he supposes, is that he’s grown too accustomed to Jackson.  To his calls and texts and seeing him.  To that feeling of butterflies in his gut at the sound of his voice, of warmth in his chest when Jackson would smile that brilliant smile of his.

     It’s odd, for Jaebum, just how much he misses Jackson.  There have been stretches of time in which they haven’t communicated before.  Most recently, Jaebum’s heat, and then Jackson’s own heat.  He didn’t think it’d be worse, this time.

     He didn’t think it’d be _so much_ worse.

     But it is.  It is, every time he sees a puppy on campus and his first instinct is to snap a picture and send it to Jackson until the realization all but crushes Jaebum.  It is, every time Bambam mentions him offhandedly and makes Jaebum’s chest feel like it’s closing in on itself.  It is, because despite the exhaustion of the term, every time he finally does manage to coerce his brain into shutting down long enough to _sleep_ , he dreams of...Jackson.  Of not rejecting him.  Of letting those lips touch his.  Of feeling fireworks _._ Of feeling _happy._

     He didn’t think he’d miss Jackson this much.  But he guesses it’s deserved after how Jaebum broke his heart.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum isn’t sure, really, how he got here.

     How he got here, to the gym, watching Jackson practice.

     He'd needed to get out, of his room, of his apartment.  It’s felt so...stifling, this past week.  Especially since Jaebum’s sleep schedule has been less than impressive and he’s spent more time moping and brooding and trying to disguise that moping and brooding by hiding in his room, working.  So he gets out, decides to take a walk on campus, and feels marginally better until he looks up realizes that his feet have taken him to the gym.

     He stands by the doors.  Lingers for a while, a _long_ while, deciding.

     There’s a girl who passes by him, heading in with a gym bag slung over her shoulder and her hair tied up in braids.  She lingers in the doorway, holding it open behind her, the question in her raised brow as she looks back at him.

     _You coming, or what?_

He is.

     He pulls his hoodie up, over his eyes. Keeps his head down low so it casts a long, dark shadow over his face.

     There aren’t many people, in the gym, watching. Few enough that he shuffles into a seat behind one of the larger groups, hoping it’ll make him look a bit less conspicuous and make him stick out a little less like a sore thumb.

     It doesn’t take long, to figure out which one is Jackson.  Especially since one of the fencers stumbles in his retreat from a lunge and responds by whipping off his mask and shuffling to the bench.

     And the sight of him has Jaebum’s chest feeling empty in a way it has never felt before, has his fingers turning white as they squeeze each other, a little too hard.

     Jackson’s blond hair tumbles around his face, wild and unkempt and looking a little like it needs washed, when he collapses onto the bench.

     His coach is there.  Jaebum can’t hear what he says, but it mustn’t be good, with how Jackson’s shoulders just keep dropping inch by inch and he fists his hands in his hair.

     “He’s been doing that a lot these past few days,” the kid sitting in front of Jaebum says, leaning towards the blond-haired guy sitting beside him.

    The blond turns, and Jaebum sees a flash of dimples and the name rings at the edge of his memory.  Jooheon?  The one who’d pulled Jackson aside at the party.  “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low, and Jaebum shuffles a bit, to make it seem like he isn’t intent on eavesdropping on their conversation.  “He told me he’s had a hard time focusing lately.  Didn’t say why, though.”

     “Hopefully he can figure things out soon. Qualifying’s coming up, right?”

     “Yeah.  I don’t know, man.  He looks like he hasn’t been sleeping, and Mark-hyung mentioned that he hasn’t been eating much either.”

     “Damn,” his friend sighs, with a shake of his head.

     Jaebum’s exit is hasty then.  Hasty enough that he’s far too focused on getting out, on getting out into the open where he can _breathe_ , to notice the eyes that follow him from the floor as he does so.

     It’s better, outside.  Less suffocating.

     Still, he stops at the campus café on his way home. Orders an organic green tea and a lunchbox with ramen with kimchi.  Non-spicy.

     It’s a little ridiculous, that they’ll charge a delivery fee just to deliver it the gym, but Jaebum pays it anyway.

 

 

 

    On one of the many, many occasions in which that morning replays itself in Jaebum’s head, like an old film reel on repeat, Jaebum wonders...why.

    Why Jackson _likes_ likes him.

    Jaebum is...unremarkable.  He gets too angry at too little, he tends to be quiet and curt, and he’s always been somewhat averse to small-talk and socializing.  He’s rough around the edges, gruff and unwelcoming and sarcastic and sometimes hurts people because of it, mostly without even meaning to.  He blends into the background, fades into the wallpaper, more often than not, and Jaebum honestly doesn’t mind it.  In fact, he prefers it.

    But Jackson is...remarkable.   He’s gentle yet firm, loud yet tender, and the force of his smile makes people feel like they’re everything.  He goes around like he’s made it his life mission to make as many people smile, as many people laugh, as he possibly can, and he’s damn good at it.  But he’s also a bleeding heart, worn on his sleeve, against the walls Jaebum’s been building since that night in high school he woke up in his own slick, and probably even before.  He’s everything Jaebum’s not, and he’s sanded away at Jaebum’s rough edges like he’s made it his personal mission.

    And Jaebum...Jaebum doesn’t know why he’d even bother.

 

 

 

     Jaebum finally, finally, submits his song for his music production class.

     He goes with the sad one.  It’s not even a choice.

     A week passes until he opens an email from his professor, requesting a meeting.

     Jaebum’s worried, stressed about the meeting, about the possibility it means failure, but he doesn’t need to be.  His professor loves the song, is impressed beyond measure and starts talking about how he knows someone from a company called JYP and _would you be interested, Mr. Im, in an internship or something of the sort?  I have some connections._

Jaebum’s immediate thought is wondering what reaction Jackson will have, to the possibility of an internship.  He’d be happy, Jaebum muses.  Ecstatic, even.  But then Jaebum remembers, he _remembers_ , and Jaebum’s heart feels like it shrivels in his chest.

     His professor tells Jaebum to think about it. To take all the time he needs.

     So his professor is impressed.  But he’s also, seemingly, worried.

     He says it’s his job, to pay attention to his students.  Especially in a department as small as music production, in a school with a...less than admirable record in terms of the mental health of their students.  They’re like a family, he says, and the music professors have long made it their mission to look out for and keep an eye on their students.

     Which is why he’s noticed a shift in Jaebum, over the last weeks.  Jaebum, apparently, is one of his favourite students because his excitement and joy and _love_ of music were always palpable in every class he attended.

     So he’s noticed that Jaebum hasn’t been participating in class - at least, not like he used to.  He’s seemed...dull, the professor says, and always looks like his mind is miles away from the classroom.  He doesn’t smile as much as he used to and he fell asleep in class once (Jaebum doesn’t remember doing that, which is even more concerning), and _it’s alright if you don’t feel comfortable talking to me, Mr. Im, but perhaps you might find it worthwhile to talk to somebody about whatever it is you’re going through_.

     The business card for the campus’ counseling services feels like it burns in Jaebum’s palm.

     (On his way home, Jaebum realizes that Jackson never heard his song.  He wonders what he’d think of it, wonders how much Jackson would chide him for being so depressing.)

 

 

 

 

     It’s Yugyeom who shows up to walk Jaebum home from his last day of the class he shares with David.  He doesn’t say who asked him to, but Jaebum doesn’t have to ask to know.

     And the fact that Jackson still cares, cares _enough_ to ask Yugyeom, should be relieving.  Should be a beacon of hope that maybe, maybe things with Jackson aren’t entirely unsalvageable.  Instead, though, it just sours the regret further, makes the guilt heavier, makes the doubts stronger.

     Jaebum’s tired, just generally exhausted because his brain feels the need to be most active at night and prompts Jaebum, more often than not, to work from dusk until dawn so he...doesn’t have to think. But he still notices the way Yugyeom’s eyes are so, so kind, gentle like Jaebum’s a startled and cornered animal, as he walks him back to his apartment.

     He wonders what Yugyeom knows.  How much he knows.

     He could ask.  Ask him how Jackson is.  But somehow, Jaebum doesn’t feel like he has the right to ask.

     He asks Yugyeom, instead, about Youngjae.

     “He’s...okay, hyung,” Yugyeom says, and Jaebum isn’t too tired, either, to notice how the kid’s eyes light up.  Jackson’s eyes used to light up when he saw Jaebum too, sometimes.  Jaebum misses that.  “His parents saw a picture someone posted of the party, of us three, on Facebook though.  So he’s been...dealing with that.  They don’t approve,” Yugyeom adds at Jaebum’s questioning glance.  “Of Bambam, more than me, but...we’re a package deal, you know, so.  Yeah.  But it’s okay.  He’s okay.  Some things are worth it, I guess.”

     Some things are worth it.

     Right.

 

 

 

 

 

     He asks Jinyoung, the next day.  What his parents think about Mark, who has suddenly been spending an awful lot of time in the apartment, particularly in Jinyoung’s bedroom.

     Never when Jaebum’s there, though.  Jaebum figures that’s very deliberate.

     “We’re just fuck-buddies, hyung,” Jinyoung tells him with a sigh as he wraps up Jaebum’s leftovers to put in the fridge.  Jaebum always has leftovers these days, never feeling hungry and spending more time pushing the food around on his plate than eating it.  “So it’s not like we’ve really discussed him.”

     “If you did, and they didn’t approve, what...what would you do?”

     Jinyoung’s eyes are dark when they flicker over to Jaebum’s.  There’s something in them, something that looks like disappointment and hurt and sadness, that Jaebum supposes is the resultant of his refusal to talk to anybody, even Jinyoung, about the cause of the sudden shift in his mood and behaviour.  “I’d say, screw them.  I’m already a disappointment to them, for being a beta.  I refuse to be a disappointment to myself, too, for prioritizing their archaic desires over my own happiness.”

     There’s a part of Jaebum that thinks, at first, that that sounds selfish, until he realizes that it...

     It makes sense.

     Yeah.  It makes sense.

 

 

 

 

 

     Nora goes missing, just as Jaebum’s preparing for his last exam.

     Jaebum doesn’t know how.  He’s always so careful, so careful to not leave the windows open too far or the door open too long.  But she gets out somehow, and he’s so absorbed in his studies and trying to distract himself that he doesn’t notice until he goes to top up her food dish before bedtime and notices that it’s at the same level as it was that afternoon.

     He looks everywhere.  Under beds and in dressers and in closets and behind counters.  And when he doesn’t find her, his heart’s beating so fast in his chest and the panic grips his throat so tightly that he can’t breathe.

     It takes his fingers three attempts to finally manage to call Jinyoung. 

     “She’s gone,” he gasps, pushing the hair from his eyes with a shaky hand as he drops to his knees to check if she’d, somehow, managed to worm her way under the couch.  “Jinyoungie, I can’t find her anywhere.”

     “Find who, hyung?  You can’t find who?”

     “Nora.  She’s gone.  She...she must’ve got out, somehow.”

     Jinyoung swears, and then his voice becomes muffled as he talks to someone else.  “Okay, hyung, Mark-hyung and I are coming, okay?  I’ll text Bammie too and see if they can help look.”

     “O-okay.  Nyoungie, it’s so...it’s so cold out there.”

     “I know, hyung, but we’ll find her, okay? We’ll find her.”

     It takes them a couple hours.  A couple hours of Jinyoung talking Jaebum down from his panic as they look on campus.  A couple hours of Jaebum’s heart dropping in his chest every time Bambam, Youngjae, and Yugyeom report not seeing her in the blocks west of the apartment, and Mark-hyung describes coming up empty-handed in the blocks to the east.

     But then Jinyoung’s phone is ringing, and he ends the call from Mark with a bright smile and arms that pull a shuddering Jaebum into his chest.  “He found her.  Okay?  He found her.”

     Jaebum assumes it’s Mark, who found her.  Mark, who he’ll have to awkwardly thank now for...for, like, all eternity.  But it’s not Mark who stands there, shifting from foot to foot, at the door to Jaebum’s apartment with a content little kitty purring in his arms.

     It’s Jackson.

     Jackson, who won’t meet his eyes but whose touch sends shivers down Jaebum’s spine as he transfers Nora into his arms.  And Jaebum just looks at him, _looks at him_ , eyes tracing over the cheeks that are more hollow than he remembers and the eyes that are duller and the skin that seems...paler.  He looks, and looks, and looks, because it’s been so _long_ since he’s been able to and he wants to remember this, this moment, in case it’s all he gets.  He looks until there’s a dissatisfied meow that comes from his arms and a chilly little paw that pushes against his chin.

     So he coos over his girl for a moment.  Jinyoung’s talking to Jackson, and Mark arrives too and so do Bambam, Youngjae, and Yugyeom, but Jaebum misses most of it, too preoccupied with burying his face in Nora’s fur and sending up a silent prayer of thanks.

     By the time he looks up, Jackson’s gone, and the ache in Jaebum’s chest has returned.

     And it’s divine justice, isn’t it, how that ache just...doesn’t go away.

 

 

 

 

 

     There’s too much in Jaebum’s apartment that reminds him of Jackson.  Like the plates they’d washed together.  The couch they’d sat on together.  Jaebum’s bed, which no longer smells like Jackson. (Jaebum still can’t find it in himself to wash the sheets, though.  He doesn’t know why, even though they really _need_ to be washed).  His phone, of course, which still can’t _ding_ with a new message without his stomach knotting and his breath catching.  The cream for Jaebum’s back, which sits on Jaebum’s shelf and it’s kind of funny how much _pain_ the sight of that pain-relieving cream always causes Jaebum. The Snorlax that Jaebum had stuffed in the back of his closet for a few hours before retrieving it and setting it back on his desk and only then, only then, did his panicked heart rate slow back down to normal.

     He spends a lot of time, looking at that Snorlax. Thinking.  Remembering.

     Once, when he’s sitting on the couch with Jinyoung waiting for their delivery to arrive, there’s a knock on the door. There’s a knock on the door and Jaebum thinks he must be going insane, he _must be_ , because the sound of the door opening has him seeing a baby pink sweater and light wash jeans and a flash of blond hair until he blinks, and sees only a sheepish looking delivery-man exchanging food for cash.

     It isn’t any easier on those rare occasions in which he does decide to leave the apartment. 

     Some classmates from his music production program had invited him out, after exams, to that little diner off campus before hitting up the club in celebration.  And Jaebum had made it, made it all the way to the door, before he’d heard the jukebox and imagined an ankle knocking against his beneath the table and a hand squeezing his and a voice which just...wormed its way past all of his defences.

     So he’d stood there, paralyzed, until he’d managed to suck in a shuddering breath and all but run back to his apartment.

     He can’t go to the gym.  Has specifically altered his routes on campus to avoid passing near it, partly because his brain keeps tormenting him with memories of standing in front of it and accepting an invitation to go out for lunch.

     He wonders if he should’ve declined the invitation.  Maybe he wouldn’t be here, constantly swallowing his heart from his throat and feeling...lost.  It would’ve been easier.  On him.  On Jackson.

     But then...he wouldn’t have _known_ Jackson.  And that short honour, Jaebum thinks, may have been worth all the pain in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh. Jaebum.
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who's sticking with me. I'm so immeasurably grateful to each and every one of you. 💚
> 
> P.S. The next chapter's a big one (in terms of what happens, not length). Just to warn you.


	18. Deciding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> I know this is early. Like, super early. Earlier than even I intended to post this. But I woke up this morning to 400 kudos, and knew I had to do something. There isn't much I can do, to thank you all, aside from posting another chapter, so here we are.
> 
> A big thank you, to each and every one of you who keeps reading this utter nonsense. It means the world to me. 💚

     Jaebum visits his parents for the holiday break. For the first time in a...while, he actually somewhat wants to go.  Less to be around his parents, more for the change of scenery.

     He needs to get out of his apartment, get away. Just for a bit.  He hopes it’ll be easier to breathe, in his parents’ house. Hopes that when he sleeps he’ll stop dreaming, and that when he awakens he’ll stop remembering how _perfect_ Jackson had looked beside him.

     It’s not easier, though.

     His parents are happy to see him. Particularly since, they report excitedly, they’ve arranged a very promising meeting for Jaebum while he’s home. With a prospective alpha mate.

     He doesn’t want to go.  He does go, though, because it’s what’s expected of him.  Even though he’s surprised to find himself caring less and less about fulfilling what’s expected of him, when his own happiness is the price.

     So he goes, and it’s horrible.

     It’s horrible.  The guy’s the son of some _very prestigious family, Jaebum, so do be on your best behaviour and try to make a good impression._ But Jaebum finds it hard to be on his _best behaviour_ , to even care the slightest about making a _good impression_ , when the guy’s just...downright obnoxious.

     He insists on picking Jaebum up, because omegas shouldn’t be driving.  _Don’t you know omegas are terrible drivers, Jaebum-ssi?  Too careless and slow._ He orders for Jaebum, because the steak Jaebum had voiced his intent on getting _isn’t good for an omega’s reproductive health, Jaebum-ssi...too many hormones._ He is patronizing and entirely embarrassing with how he treats the omega waitress, and when Jaebum tells him he’s studying music production he actually has the gall to _scoff._

_Wouldn’t homemaking or the domestic arts be a more...appropriate field of study, Jaebum-ssi?  Why bother wasting your time studying for a career you’ll never have?_

Jaebum doesn’t even make it to the time the entrees arrive before he’s upending his glass of wine down the front of the guy’s shirt. He panics in the bathroom for a moment, because _how the hell is he going to get home now?!_ , until the waitress knocks lightly on the door and lets him know she called him a cab, completely on her, for having to deal with such an asshole.

     Jaebum doesn’t let her pay for the cab, and instead pushes a few bills into her reluctant hand as an apology.  He tells her he’s so, so glad he’d opted for the red wine over the white that evening, and the smile the comment earns him has the dullness he feels _everywhere_ easing, just a little.

     (He’s so tired, just exhausted by _everything_ , that when he gets home, his thumb hovers over Jackson’s name in his phone.

     He almost presses it.  Almost.  He wants to talk to him.  Wants to tell him about the disaster of a date, and the disaster of a human it’d been with, and all the ways in which the guy had been utterly inferior to Jackson.  He wants to talk to him and hear his voice and ask...what’s new.  How he’s been.  What he’s been doing.

     If he’s hurting as much as Jaebum is.

     But he doesn’t.  He can’t.  He lost any right to Jackson’s compassion or kindness or _anything_ the moment he told him to leave.)

 

 

 

 

     It’s been weeks, now, since Jaebum’s seen Jackson. Or heard from him.

     Time heals everything, they say.

     Jaebum knows it hasn’t been much time, in the grand scheme of things, but he doesn’t _need_ any more time to know that the saying is just...bullshit.

     He misses Jackson.  Misses talking to him.  Misses listening to him.  Misses...just being with him.  The ease and comfort of being with him.

     And rather than fade, that ache in his chest seems only to grow stronger with each passing day.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum’s parents are, unsurprisingly, less than impressed when they hear how disrespectful and un-omega-like he had acted on his date.

     _He was a good match_ , they say.  _One of your father’s first picks._

     Jaebum thinks that says a lot about his father.

     So they set him up with another alpha.  It’s a female, in case that’s what had deterred Jaebum.  Strong family, strong alpha lineage, strong line of reproductive health, yada, yada, yada. Not one of their prime choices, since they’re convinced that the chance of producing alpha offspring wouldn’t be as high with Jaebum impregnating rather than...being impregnated, but, they say, she’s better than nothing.

     Jaebum wonders if that’s how his parents ever described him.  Better than nothing.

     Jaebum doesn’t bother reminding them that he’s as gay as his mother’s immaculately tended flower gardens.  He doesn’t bother, either, telling them that there had been many things that had “deterred” Jaebum on his date, and the fact that the guy had a dick hadn’t been one of them.

     His attitude had been one.  His ignorance and vile ideas about omegas had been another. His comment about how the omega waitress was _asking_ for his disrespect given how low her blouse was cut.  His complete disregard for Jaebum’s wants and desires and hopes, and his apparent relegation of all omegas to _child-bearers_ and _homemakers._

     Jackson had never belittled him.  Never made him feel less, much less _worthless_ , for being an omega.  Had never withheld his decisions or chastised him or dismissed his love of music.

     Jaebum doesn’t care that Jackson’s an omega.  It doesn’t change the fact that there’s _so much_ Jaebum’s parents and circle of colleagues could learn from Jackson Wang.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum realizes, as he tries and fails to fall asleep that night, that Jackson had carved himself into Jaebum’s life. Carved a nice little Jackson-shaped hole in his life, in his heart.

     Call Jaebum a pessimist, but he doesn’t think anyone could ever fill that hole.  There’d be pieces too big, pieces too small, and nothing, no one, could ever stem the flow of longing from the little gaps it would leave.

     It makes Jaebum wonder what that means.  He thinks maybe that’s a clear indication that he should stop looking, stop looking for a replacement when he could have, maybe, the original, the _real deal._

     He wonder what _that_ thought means too.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum wakes up to a message from Jinyoung.  A Jinyoung who had clearly been drinking, because his voice is slurred and Jaebum swears he hears a bottle clinking in the background when he talks.

     “I don’t know what’s going on with you, hyung,” Jinyoung mumbles.  “I feel like you...you’re not telling me anything, lately.  Like you’ve been distant.  I know you’re working out...something, but I needed to say that...I’ve been worried about you for...so long, hyung.”  The sigh that comes from him has Jaebum having to rub the heel of his hand to his chest, over his heart, where it _hurts._  “I feel...I feel like there’s never been a time that I’ve _haven't_  been worried for you.  And, hyung,” he says, with a sniffle that makes it sound suspiciously like he’s crying, “I’ve never seen you this happy before.  I hate that you’re just going to…let it go.  Don’t...don’t let it go, hyung.  Please, hyungie, don’t let it go.”

 

 

 

 

 

     The second date is a bit better.

     She’s a sweet girl.  Strong-minded and opinionated, but Jaebum doesn’t mind that.  Especially when it prompts her to stop Jaebum during their walk in the park, turn him around to face her and say, “I’m sorry, but I need to be honest with you.  This isn’t going to work.”

     “Okay,” Jaebum says.  He feels a little guilty for not even being disappointed.

     “It’s nothing personal.  You seem like a great guy.  I’m just...well to be frank, I’m planning to run away with my girlfriend.  My beta girlfriend.”

     Jaebum just blinks at her.

     “My parents don’t like her,” she continues, a defiance in her eyes that honestly makes Jaebum...happy.  “They don’t like her, because we obviously can’t reproduce, so they’re intent I find a nice man to settle down with.”

     “But you’re...still planning to run away with her?”

     “Not just planning.  We are.  We leave next week, once we both get our last paychecks.”

     Jaebum doesn’t know what comes over him.  He pulls her into a hug.

     She’s stiff in his arms, for the briefest of moments, before she’s huffing out a little laugh and patting his back, brushing away his stammered apologies.  “It’s cool,” she giggles.  “I’m excited too.  Besides,” she continues, voice hushed a bit as she draws away, “I don’t think we’d work out anyway.  You and I.  You have your heart set on someone else too, don’t you?”

     Jaebum’s breath shudders in his chest.  “He’s...he’s an omega.  Like me.”

     “Ah,” she hums, with a little sympathetic smile.  “Mind if I...give you a couple words of wisdom?  As someone who’s been there?  Times are changing.  Times _have_ changed.  It’s your life.  Your happiness.  Your journey, your future.  The sooner you stop letting others try to dictate that, to tell you what that entails, the happier and...freer you’ll be.  I promise.”  She smiles as she takes Jaebum’s hands in her own to squeeze them in encouragement, and it reminds Jaebum a bit of Youngjae, how wide and bright and...carefree, it seems.  Which probably means something.  “I have a lot of regrets in my life, but she’s...she’s not one of them.  And the fact that I chose her, and chose _myself_ , over some...archaic traditions and expectations won’t ever be one of them either.”

     Jaebum feels light, lighter than he has in weeks, when they part ways in that park.  He leaves with lipstick on his cheek and a new contact in his phone, saved under the name “Go get your man! - a.k.a Mya <3.”

 

 

 

 

 

     On his way back, he passes by a toy store.

     Normally he wouldn’t pay it much attention.  His eyes would skim over the trinkets and games and bobbles idly, passively, before moving on.

     Now, they catch on a little blue figurine, a little blue keychain, on the shelf.

     The Squirtle has him stopping in front of the window.

     He doesn’t know how long he stands there.  Staring at it.  Thinking that...Jackson would like it.  But it’s long enough that the shop owner comes out, wiping her hands on the colourful apron she wears around her waist as she asks if he needs any help with or had questions about anything.

     When he walks home, his hand stays in his pocket, thumb grazing idly over the little blue turtle that now adorns his keychain.

     And for the first time, in a while, he feels...at peace.

 

 

 

 

 

     His parents are disappointed.  Again.

     It’s kind of funny, but Jaebum realizes that that disappointment doesn’t sting as much as it used to.

     There’s a knock on his bedroom door as he’s folding his clean clothes to return to his suitcase.  It’s his mother, whose head pops through the opening and sends Jaebum’s unease skyrocketing.

     “Mind if we chat for a minute, Jaebum?”

     “Sure,” Jaebum says, as he folds a shirts, lays it neatly in the corner.

     She stands beside him, fingers nimbly pairing socks and rolling them to pop in the sleeve of Jaebum’s suitcase.  “I’m concerned,” she starts, voice light in a way Jaebum knows is purposeful, to not immediately make him defensive and on guard, “that you aren’t taking the matches your father and I have arranged for you seriously enough.  Or giving them a chance.”

     I did give them a chance, he thinks.  It’s just that the choices you left me were horrible.  Especially when compared to -

     There’s no point, though, in saying that.

     “We really are trying to do what’s best for you,” she continues.  Jaebum doubts that, somehow, with a ferociousness with which he doesn’t think he’s ever doubted his parents before.  “And I do hope that the next time you come home, you’ll be a bit more...receptive to our efforts.”

     None of the words that come to Jaebum’s mind are particularly pleasant, so he just settles on a nod.

     It seems to appease his mother though, who touches a hand to his elbow.  Jaebum can’t remember the last time he had more affection, more physical affection, from either of his parents than a careful touch on the elbow.  He thinks he understands, now, why Jackson was so liberal and generous with his touches, with the outward displays of his affection and fondness and emotion.

     Jaebum understands, too, why he had never found himself rejecting them.  Or shying away from them.  And why he always melted under them like he was starved.

     She goes to leave, but pauses, for a moment, with her hand on the doorknob.  “You know,” she says, primly, “I think I felt somewhat similarly to how you feel, right now. When I learned I was to marry your father.  I didn’t know him ahead of time, much less have any feelings for him.  But we’re okay now.  We’re content.  We’ve grown to like each other.”

     That she says they like each other, rather than love each other, does not escape Jaebum, and the sound of the door closing behind her is somewhat like a gunshot.

     He pushes the suitcase aside to sit on the edge of his bed when his knees suddenly feel weak.  He isn’t sure when he started to...want more, more than what he’s always expected for himself.  But as he takes the Squirtle out of his pocket, runs his fingertips almost reverently across its face, he decides he doesn’t want to settle.

     He doesn’t want okay.  Nor content.  Nor liking.

     He wants good.  He wants _great_ , and _excellent_ , and _happy._

He wants  _love_.

 

 

 

 

 

     And he finds it, he _finds_ it, despite everything, when he returns home to his apartment, on the eve of his birthday, and wakes up to Jinyoung’s startled, “Ah, hyung?  I think you should come see this.”

     “This,” it turns out, is a bouquet of flowers. Delivered from the local flower shop, from an anonymous sender, and it fills the room with colour and fragrance as much as it seems to fill Jaebum with...warmth.

     The sender may have been anonymous, but Jaebum has an inkling.

     Together, the arrangement looks a little...odd.  A little thrown together, haphazardly selected. Of varying seasons and varying shades, and it confuses Jaebum, a little, until he gets a call from the flower shop that afternoon.

     “Hello, is this Im Jaebum?”

     “It is.”

     “This is Irene, from A Blooming Life.  We just were calling to confirm that you received your delivery this morning?”

     “Ah...yes, I did.  Thank you.”

     “You’re very welcome.  We hope you enjoy them.  Ah...Mr. Im?”

     “Yes?”

     “We don’t usually, ah, offer this caveat, but it _is_ a very...unconventional looking bouquet.  Primarily because it was arranged with specific instructions to include flowers with certain meanings, rather than ones which we would...traditionally include together, or that aesthetically work well together.  We hope you understand.”

     “I do.  Thank you, it’s lovely.”

     He spends the entire afternoon looking up the flowers, and their meanings.

     Daisies.  _Understanding, of each other._

Gardenia.  _You’re lovely, and make me happy._

Anthurium.  _Home.  Happiness._

Zinnias.  _I miss you._

Carnations.  Pink carnations.  _I’ll never forget you._

Purple hyacinth.  _I’m sorry.  Please, forgive me._

It’s the last one, the apology, that confuses Jaebum most.  Because if either of them has the need to feel sorry, it’s definitely not Jackson.

 

 

 

 

 

     Bambam holds a party, that first week back, to celebrate Jaebum’s birthday and the start of the new semester.  The last semester, for Mark and Jaebum.

     Jaebum doesn’t usually care for parties, but he doesn’t mind this one.  Because it’s just himself, Jinyoung, Bambam, Yugyeom, Youngjae, and Mark, sitting on the floor of Bambam’s apartment with pizza and soju and a movie playing in the background.  All the people he cares about the most.

     Except one.

     It doesn’t surprise him, that Jackson doesn’t come.  But it does sting a little, and dampen his mood, like clouds and rain on an otherwise gloriously sunny day.

     Mark heads into the kitchen when his phone rings in the middle of the movie, and returns with an apology on his lips and hands that immediately reach for his backpack by the door.  “Sorry, guys, I gotta go.  Jackson hurt himself.”

     “What?  Is...is he okay?”

     It’s only when Mark meets his eyes, stares at him with a little furrow between his brows and a frown on his lips that looks distinctly unimpressed, that Jaebum realizes it’s him who asked in that trembling voice.  “He’s fine,” Mark says, voice curt and sharp like he’s blaming for Jaebum for something, and really, Jaebum can’t find it within himself to disagree.  “He just twisted his ankle, and needs a ride back to our place.”

     “Want some company?” Jinyoung asks him as he trails behind Mark, like a puppy, to the door.

     Mark just smiles at him crookedly.  “Thanks, Jinyoungie, but I have any early start tomorrow.”

     And Jaebum doesn’t need to be able to see Jinyoung’s face to know he pouts at that.

     Mark leaves, with a pat on his ass for Jinyoung to remember him by.

     Jaebum bids his adieus shortly after, then, finding he can’t focus on the movie any more than he can avoid how intently his friends keep _staring_ at him.

     (“Did you invite Jackson, Bammie?”

     “Of course I did, hyung.”

     “I wonder why he didn’t come.”

     “He said he didn’t want to make Jaebum-hyung uncomfortable.”

     “Have either of them talked to you about what happened?”

     “Nope.  Has Jaebum-hyung talked to you?”

     “Not really.”

     “What a couple of idiots.”

     “Hell, I’ll drink to that.”)

 

 

 

 

 

     So there is no singular moment of grand-sweeping realization, for Im Jaebum.

     Instead, there are little moments.  All these tiny moments and thoughts that have coalesced, that have culminated, into one deliberate decision.  It’s a decision that’s been building for a while, but has just accelerated since that day Jackson walked out of that door, pushed out by the weight of Jaebum’s rejection.

     One deliberate decision.

     Jaebum can live without Jackson Wang.  Hell, he probably _should_.  It’d be easier, in some respects.

     But in trying to live without Jackson Wang, he decides that he just doesn’t want to.

 

 

 

 

 

     And it’s that injury that, for whatever reason, is the final moment for Jaebum.

     The worry he’d felt at learning Jackson was hurt. The worry he’s felt for weeks about whether he’s been eating and sleeping enough.

     The worry Jackson felt for him too, apparently, when it came to David.

     Jaebum doesn’t want “likes” or “content” or “okay.”  He doesn’t want lectures or judgment or decisions, made for him.  He doesn’t want his parents, or that guy whose white shirt, Jaebum hopes, is now permanently stained pink.

     He wants love and happiness and _good_.  He wants acceptance and equality and encouragement and skinship.  He wants it all, everything he never thought he could have.

     Because now, he knows, he _can_ have it.

     Because Jackson is...everything he wants.  He’s love and happiness and an endless fountain of support and not just good, but _great._ He might not be _perfect_ , but neither is Jaebum.  God, neither is Jaebum.

     He wants to be there.  For every twisted ankle and stupid argument and self-doubt.  And it’ll be hell.  Jaebum knows it’ll be hell.  His parents will be...“upset” won’t even cover it.  He doesn’t think they’ll disown him, not when he’s the only child.  And as they’d said, themselves, something is better than nothing.

     They might hate Jaebum, they might turn their back on him, for a while, but he knows his parents.  He knows their priorities.  And he knows that they’ll take Jaebum-with-an-omega-partner over no lineage at all.

     It’s cold, Jaebum thinks.  But he’s used to that, from them.

     But, as Jinyoung had said...there’s a certain freedom, in _already_ being a disappointment.  Jaebum knows, has known for a while, that there’s nothing he could do to make his parents _completely_ love him, or accept him.  He’d lost that privilege, with his very first heat.

     He thinks of Mya, with her beta partner.  She’d sent him a picture last week, of her girlfriend, smile wide enough to rival her spread arms as she gestured to their new house.  And beside her stood Mya, staring at her with the dopiest grin in the world, looking like she could not possibly be happier than she was.

     Jaebum wants that.  For the first time, he wants it all.  And damn it, he’s going to _get_ it.

 

 

 

 

 

     There’s just...one thing left.  To do, before he has to call the florist and ask for their biggest bouquet of every flower that begs forgiveness and tells Jackson that his _like_ liking is not...unrequited. 

     He knows already.  He’s decided, already.  He just...needs this, this one final step.  For confirmation.

     When he hears Bambam’s door open, hears the voices and Bambam’s giggle, Jaebum pads to the door of his own apartment and peers through the peep hole.

     All three of them are there.  Bambam and Yugyeom have Youngjae between them, showering his face with kisses and drawing a screeching laugh from the shorter boy.

     He just waits until Bambam leaves one more smacking kiss on Youngjae’s and Yugyeom’s lips and waltzes down the hall.  He waits until he hears the _ding_ of the elevator doors opening, the second _ding_ as it descends.

     Then he’s knocking on the door to Bambam’s apartment.

     “Hey, hyung,” Yugyeom greets him, with a smile, as he swings the door open.  “You just missed Bammie, he’s - ”

     “It’s not Bammie I want to talk to.  Or...need to talk to.  It’s you and Youngjae.  Please, do you two have a minute?”

     Yugyeom blinks at him, startled and looking a smidgen worried.  “I...sure. Come on in, hyung.”

     “Hiya, hyung!”

     Youngjae’s smile is so, so bright, and yeah...Jaebum feels like he might just get the answer he was hoping for, and the final nail in the coffin of his parents’ expectations and his own doubts.

     “Hey Youngjae-ah.  You two have a minute?”

     “Sure!”

     Youngjae and Yugyeom sit together on Bambam’s little couch, Yugyeom’s arm around the back of it, fingers skimming over Youngjae’s shoulder while Youngjae fiddles with the frayed threads on the knee of Yugyeom’s ripped jeans.

     Yeah.  Jaebum wants it all.

     “I...wanted to ask you about your family, Youngjae-ah.”

     He can see the hurt as it dances across Youngjae’s eyes, before it settles into a steely determination.  “Okay, hyung.  Ask away.”

     “How...” Jaebum pauses to try to swallow down the thickness in his throat.  “How do they feel?  About you three.”  Youngjae’s eyes drop, almost immediately, and Jaebum feels the guilt curling in his chest.  “I’m sorry, you don’t have to - ”

     “No, hyung, it’s fine,” Youngjae assures him. Yugyeom’s thumb keeps sweeping over Youngjae’s shoulder, and Jaebum can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it.  “Someone from the party tagged us in a picture on Facebook and they saw.  They’re...not happy.”  Youngjae brushes off Jaebum’s murmured apology.  “It’s fine.  Well...it will be.”

     “How...do you know?”

     “Because...I’m happy.  And if they don’t want me to be happy, then that’s their problem.  Not mine.”

     Jaebum lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

     “I know we’re...early,” Youngjae continues, sharing a glance with Yugyeom, who just continues staring at him with so much affection glittering in his eyes that it makes _Jaebum_ ’s chest ache, “into this relationship.  But it’s what I want.  It’s what makes me happy.  I couldn’t ask for better partners.”

     Yugyeom coos.  Jaebum manages to hold his in.  Barely.

     “They’re just...good to me.  Make me laugh, understand me, support me.  Love me.  More than my parents ever did, so...yeah.  They’re worth it.”

     _Some things are worth it_ , Yugyeom had said.

     Yeah.  Some things just might be.

     “Is everything alright, Jaebum-hyung?”

     Jaebum blinks at Youngjae.  “I think it is,” he says, and his chest feels light, lighter than it has in weeks.  “Or will be, anyway.  Hopefully.  I...my parents want me to find an alpha mate.  But I...I like an omega.”

     And he feels a weight, an invisible weight, lift from his chest.

     He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, from Youngjae and Yugyeom, but it isn’t the confused expression he sees mirrored on both of their faces as they look at each other, then look at Jaebum.

     “Oh,” Yugyeom says after a minute.

     Youngjae just hums, brows furrowed.

     “...What?”

     “It’s just...” Yugyeom trails off, glancing at Youngjae again before his eyes flicker back to Jaebum.  “We thought you liked Jackson-hyung?”

     Oh.  Oh fuck.  Has he been this obvious, the entire time, that even Youngjae and Yugyeom knew _before_ Jaebum himself?

     “...I do?  I like him, but he’s an omega, and that’s...that’s the problem.  Well, that has been the problem.  But it isn’t now.”

     “But hyungie,” Yugyeom says, voice low and cautious and measured, “Jackson isn’t an omega.”

     Jaebum feels his heart still, his lungs still, everything still.  It’s so, so silent as his breath seems to clog in his chest, silent enough you could hear a pin drop, but all he can seem to do is just look from Youngjae to Yugyeom, Youngjae to Yugyeom, Youngjae to Yugyeom.  “...What?”

     Youngjae’s rising from the couch, then, to seat himself on the arm of Jaebum’s armchair.  His hand falls warm and comforting on Jaebum’s shoulder. “Jaebum-hyung,” he says, softly and gently like Jaebum’s a child, “Jackson-hyung’s an alpha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And FINALLY the truth 💣 is dropped.


	19. Wanting

     Jaebum...must be hearing things.

     He must be.  There’s no other explanation.

     Because it almost, _almost_ sounded like Youngjae just said...just said...

     So his voice shakes, flutters like a leaf in the wind, when he dumbly asks, “What?”

     Youngjae’s hand tightens on Jaebum’s shoulder in a squeeze, but Jaebum can barely process it, process anything beyond the growing rushing in his ears that has him feeling vaguely nauseous.  “Jackson-hyung isn’t an omega.  He’s an alpha.”

     Jaebum just blinks at him, slowly.  “He’s...alpha?”

     Yugyeom meets his eyes, concern with a hint of alarm lurking at the edges, like he wants nothing more than to just call Jinyoung or Bambam to deal with this situation instead.  Still, he nods, slowly.  “Yeah, hyung.  An alpha.”

     And it’s like all the fight, all the stress and tension leaves Jaebum immediately.  He collapses back in the chair like a marionette cut from its strings.

     Jackson.  Not an omega.  An alpha.

     An  _alpha._

He kind of wants to cry.

     All this worry and concern and heartache and hurt had been...for nothing?  Pointless?

     All those days of wanting.  Of dreaming.  Of hoping and _if only_ ’s.  All those days of wanting something he thought he couldn’t have, and just wanting it all the more  _because_ he couldn’t have it until he finally, _finally_ , decided that he wanted it anyway.

     And emotion wells up in his chest, like a vice grip around his lungs, and he’s _laughing_ even though he can’t breathe and his throat feels thick, and the sound it makes verges on hysterical.  It’s enough to have Yugyeom frowning and moving over to sit on the other arm of Jaebum’s chair, laying a hand on his back beside Youngjae’s.  Jaebum barely feels it, barely feels _anything_ beyond the overwhelming sense of...

     Relief.

     _Freedom._

     “Hyung?” Yugyeom asks, voice small and tinny with concern.  “Are you...okay?”

     Okay?  Is Jaebum _okay_?

     Jaebum’s  _perfect._

Because...because he can be with Jackson now.  He was already intending to be with him, had come to the conscious decision to be with him regardless of what his parents thought, or wanted, or expected.  Because _some things are worth it_ , he’s been told, and Jaebum knows now, and has spent the last weeks deciding, that Jackson is one of those things.  That Jackson is one of those things, even if he’s an omega and Jaebum’s parents never talk to him again.  Even if he can’t go home without hearing how he disappointed his family by not fulfilling his _duty_ , his obligation as the sole omega child born to an alpha family.  But now...

     Now there is quite literally no reason why he can’t be with Jackson.  His parents can launch no argument, because they wanted an _alpha_ and that’s exactly what they’re fucking going to get. Problem solved.

     So Jaebum’s laugh is high, high and sharp and catching on the edges and just a little wet with emotion, when he says, “I’m fine, Yugyeomie.  I’m fucking _perfect._ ”

     It has Yugyeom blinking, looking startled, whether from how Jaebum used a _nickname_ for him, from how the tears sit thick in Jaebum’s voice, or from the curse. Still, his hand traces idle little patterns on Jaebum’s back.  “Who told you he was an omega?”

     Jaebum’s hands are shaking.  When’d they start shaking?  “I...don’t know.”  It takes a solid effort, because his brain feels fried by emotions and his leg’s jumping too and suddenly it feels like there’s far too much energy coursing through Jaebum’s body.  Far too much...everything, really.  He scrambles to his feet, to pace, to relieve some of the jitteriness that floods his system at the thought of _Jackson Jackson Jackson_ , and it helps to settle, to focus his mind, a little.  Enough to remember.  To remember Nora on his lap, and being so, so tired while Bambam rambled away about a blond in his class with a sweet smell and bright smile.  To remember meeting Jackson and smelling something sweet and being blinded by the beauty of his grin and thinking, assuming, that yeah, it must be him.  “Bambam,” he tells them, voice jumpy.  “He was talking about meeting an omega from class, and being so smitten with him, and I thought it was Jackson but it wasn’t.  It wasn’t Jackson,” he rambles, and there’s a smile overtaking his face, curling his lips, before he can stop it, and he’d forgotten how _nice_ it was to smile, and feel happy.  To feel _overjoyed_ and unburdened _._ “It was you,” he tells Youngjae.

     Youngjae blushes furiously, and Jaebum resists the urge to plant a smacking kiss on his forehead.

     “But I thought it was him and I rejected him. He confessed, and I rejected him, because I thought he was an omega.  But I didn’t have to reject him.  I could’ve had him.  I _can_ have him.”

     He can have Jackson.

     Jaebum’s chest feels like it splits open, and a fresh wave of tears stings behind his eyes all over again.

     “Hyung, maybe you should - ”

     “I need to go,” he says breathlessly, moving to the door in long strides and shaking off both Yugyeom’s cautious plea and Youngjae’s reaching hand.  He _needs_ to go.  To find Jackson and tell him and _get_ him and -

     “ _Hyung_!”

     “Thank you,” Jaebum tells them, cheeks hurting from the force of his smile but shoulders feeling lighter than they have...in years.  Maybe ever.  “Thank you so much.”

     He makes it to the door, their protests dying on unhearing ears, before he’s whirling around and striding back over to the two boys.  He pulls them, in turn, into tight hugs, squeezing them and ruffling their hair and not even noticing how they stiffen in shock because he’s too busy thanking whoever decided to put them into Jaebum’s life when they’ve just made him so immeasurably _happy._

     There are more protests when he pulls away, Yugyeom’s voice rising shrilly over Youngjae’s, but they’re lost to Jaebum as he bolts down the hall towards the stairs.

     Towards  _Jackson_.

 

 

 

 

 

     It’s cold, cold enough that he should take a bus.  Or a cab.  Especially since in his haste, he decided to forgo grabbing a jacket from his apartment when it would mean getting to Jackson _sooner_.  He’s been waiting long enough, long enough that to wait another unnecessary minute would be _excruciating._ So he only manages to stand at the bus stop for a single, solitary minute before the excited butterflies in his chest propel him down the sidewalk in a jog that verges on a run.

     Some things can wait.  This isn’t one of them.

     He slips, because it’s winter and icy and that’s what happens, when one isn’t paying the attention they should be to where and how they’re walking.  But Jaebum can only pay attention to one thing, can only keep his mind on one thing, and it certainly isn’t the sidewalk.

     _Jackson_.

     He misses him.  But he doesn’t have to anymore.  He doesn’t have to, ever again, and the _knowledge_ of that has him running a bit faster.

     It should take him 15 minutes, to make it to Jackson’s apartment, but he makes it in under 10.  He hopes he’s there, _prays_ he’s there.  He should be, given his sprained ankle, but if Jaebum arrives at his apartment and he’s not...Jaebum honestly doesn’t know what he’ll do.

     But he doesn’t have to concern himself with that, fortunately.  Because when he bounds up the stairs, too impatient and jittery to wait for the elevator, and pounds on the door, it’s Jackson’s voice that calls to come in.

     Jaebum does, and it’s probably unhealthy, how quickly his heart rate accelerates at the sight of _Jackson_.  How immediately his mind seems to _calm_ and his chest tighten and _there_ , he thinks, _that’s it_.

     This is it.  The feeling.  The feeling his parents never found, but Youngjae and Mya did.  The feeling of smiles and butterflies and calm and _relief_ , relief so pure and thick it clogs Jaebum’s throat.  The feeling of flying yet being so grounded, of adventure yet safety, of wonder and awe and _gratitude_ , again, for whatever deity decided that a being as perfect as Jackson Wang should exist and, moreover, that he should exist in Jaebum’s life.  The feeling that Jaebum can be _happy_ now, happy because this beautiful man in front of him can be _his_ and there’s nothing that the world can do to stop him.  Not now.  Not ever.

     Jackson’s sitting on the couch, back against the arm with his sweatpant-clad legs spread out in front of him on the cushions.  There’s ice in a bag resting on his ankle and a textbook open in his lap and Jaebum’s never felt so happy, so _incredibly happy_ , to see someone in...all the years he’s been alive.

    He’s...gorgeous.  Stunning, so much so that it takes the little breath Jaebum has left after his run away completely.  Even with the shadows dug under his eyes.  Even with how his face seems sharper and his t-shirt looser than they should, in a way that has some of that pure and utter delight curling a bit in worry.  He’s more beautiful, somehow, than Jaebum even remembered, than Jaebum has even been picturing, these past weeks, and Jaebum has to fight the urge to run over to him and just crawl into his lap and enjoy everything he’s been denying himself for _so long._  

     “I thought you were an omega.”

     It’s probably not the best greeting, but it’s the one that immediately stumbles its way from Jaebum’s lips.

     Jackson’s head snaps up, shock flashing across his face before it seems to shift into something that looks uncomfortably like _pain_ before that settles, too, into wariness.  That hurts Jaebum, slices into his chest like a knife, but it’s understandable.  It is.  He can’t blame him.

     “What?  What are you doing here?”

     He sounds...apprehensive.  Cautious.  Wary.  His voice is low and raspy, and the forced impersonality of the greeting and implication that Jaebum should be somewhere, anywhere, other than _here_ has Jaebum stumbling a bit.

     There’s nowhere else Jaebum should be.  Nowhere else.

     Jackson’s fingers, having stilled on the corner of the textbook page, now play with it.  Bend it, back and forth, back and forth, like he’s...nervous.  Uncomfortable.  Jaebum swallows.

     “I thought you were an omega,” he repeats.  He takes a step forward, towards Jackson, wanting to close the gap even a little because that gap’s been too large for too long, and Jaebum’s uncomfortable with being so far away.  He’s always found Jackson to be somewhat...magnetic, impossible to resist, and it’s even moreso now, now that Jaebum knows he doesn’t _have_ to resist anymore.

     But his advance has Jackson immediately shuffling back on the couch.  The sting in Jaebum’s chest grows, multiplies into a thousand little pinpricks that leave him dazed from the pain, but he tells himself that it’s okay.  That Jackson just doesn’t understand yet, that while he’s retreating now, soon he won’t feel the need to.

     Jackson’s lips tip into a frown, little lines of consternation dug between his brows and Jaebum aches to smooth them away with his fingers, his lips, _anything_.

     He just wants to know, again, what Jackson feels like, under his hands, beneath his palms.  Wants to know how much more _electric_ it is now, now that Jaebum doesn’t have to _worry_ and _suppress_ and _restrain_ himself so much.  Now that Jaebum can just let himself _feel._

     “My parents are...dicks,” Jaebum continues.  It’s a challenge, because he just wants to push through the explanation so Jackson can forgive him and they can _move on_ , but his lungs don’t seem to want to work properly, so every sentence leaves him gasping.  “An old alpha family, long proud lineage, et cetera, et cetera, so of course I was a _huge_ disappointment when I presented as...not an alpha.  But since I wasn’t an alpha, I’m expected to mate one...next best thing.”

     Jackson’s frown just deepens, and Jaebum thinks his smile is going to be so, so _beautiful_ when it finally breaks across his face with the news that Jaebum’s concerns have vanished, disintegrated like dust into the air.

     “And that’s...always been the expectation.  It’s been bred into me, really...that I would be a good obedient omega and marry an alpha, a strong alpha that my parents selected for me, and I’d bear lots of tiny little alpha pups and restore the pride to the family name.  But I thought you were an omega.  And I can’t be with an omega.”

     Jackson’s eyes drop to his lap, to where his fingers pick at his thumb.

     Jaebum crosses to him, drops to his knees in front of the couch to pull those hands into his and his heart _sings_ at how...good it feels.  Jackson’s hands are a little stiff in his, cold and stiff and not responding at all to Jaebum’s thumbs as they rub across his skin, but Jaebum’s too _happy_ and _excited_ to really pay it much heed.  The way Jackson’s hands jerk a bit, like he wants desperately to pull them away, does have hurt zinging briefly down Jaebum’s spine before it dies out in the midst of all that _joy._ “But you’re not.  So we can...we can be _together_ , Sseun-ah.”

     Jackson does pull his hands away at that.

     Jaebum rocks on his knees, taken aback.  He’d thought Jackson would be delighted, as happy as Jaebum, but he...isn’t.  His brow is still furrowed and his eyes are still so, so cautious, and there are doubts, creeping shadows of doubts, that are just starting to dampen Jaebum’s joy.

     “Let me...let me get this straight,” Jackson says, voice low and slow and eerily calm and Jaebum’s heart jumps in his chest. “I confessed to you, that I liked you, that I wanted to be with you, and you rejected me because...because you thought I was an omega.”

     “Yeah,” Jaebum breathes, because Jackson’s finally, _finally_ getting it.  Jaebum wants to bring Jackson’s hands to his chest and bury his face in his lap and just...forget about the hell these weeks have been.  “But you’re not, so that’s...that’s not a problem.  We’re okay now.”

     “But I’m not,” Jackson repeats, voice sounding oddly emotionless.  He crosses his arms in front of his chest, tight enough and strong enough that his knuckles whiten where they’re fisted against his arm.  “You learned that I’m not, so you want me.  You want me now, when you didn’t before.”

     “I did want you, before,” Jaebum amends.

     “But not enough.  Not enough for me to be worth it.”

     It feels like time stops.  For the briefest of seconds, it feels like time stops, as Jaebum just gapes at Jackson.  “Sseun-ah, of course you’re worth it - ”

     “Now,” Jackson says, and he doesn’t quite snap, but it’s close, close enough that the hair on the back of Jaebum’s neck stands tall.  “I’m worth it _now_.  Now that I’m an alpha.  Now that you don’t have to worry about your parents.”

     “I - ”

     “Now that you don’t have to worry about what mate your parents would pick for you.  Because you found yourself an alpha who _wants_ you, and that’s...that’s all you want, isn’t it?  An alpha.”

     “I...I don’t want _just_ an alpha.  I - ”

     “Right.  You want me, _because_ I’m an alpha.”

     The pain was supposed to go away.  It was supposed to go away, so why does Jaebum feel like he’s drowning?

     “Sseun-ah,” he pleads, chest heaving because the water’s filling his lungs and he can’t...he can’t breathe.  “I just...I just want you.  Please, Sseun-ah.  Just ask me again.  Ask me again, Sseun-ah, and I’m yours.”

     “Ask you again?” Jackson asks, and the incredulously in his voice, like Jaebum’s an _idiot_ for even suggesting such a thing, has Jaebum’s heart plummeting.  “You want me to ask you again.  Are...you’re kidding, right?”

     Jaebum’s breath catches, sounding like a sob as it rips through the silence of the room.

     “I...I haven’t always thought well of myself.  And of what I deserve.  But I know now, what that is, and it...it isn’t this.”  Jackson looks tired.  Tired and resigned and Jaebum feels like he’s tearing apart, coming apart at the seams and spilling out onto the floor at Jackson’s feet.  “You were always enough for me,” he says, and there’s a small smile on his lips, a small self-deprecating smile that drips of so much sadness it hurts.  “Whether you were an omega or alpha or beta, or none of the above, you would’ve been enough for me.  Because I liked you for you.  For _who_ you were.  Not for what you were.”

     Jaebum hears the past tense, and the realization feels like a blow to the stomach that has him crumpling over.

     “But I wasn’t enough for you,” Jackson continues. “As an omega, I wasn’t enough for you.”

     Jaebum wants to tell him he’s enough.  He is enough, and always has been.  It’s just been _Jaebum_ , who didn’t realize it soon enough.  It’s just been _Jaebum_ who was the problem.  Never Jackson.

     “I’m only _enough_ for you, as an alpha.  And I...I deserve to be _enough_ for my partner, regardless of my presentation.”

     Jaebum’s eyes well up.

     “If my...if my presentation is that important to you, important enough that it...dictates whether or not you want to be with me,” Jackson continues, “then maybe you were right, in the first place.  Maybe this isn’t a good idea.  Maybe _we_ aren’t a good idea.”

     And the first tear drops.

     Jackson sees it, he must.  His fingers seem to twitch, but they remain locked around his arms, still folded protectively in front of him, holding himself together while Jaebum falls apart. 

     “I want...I need...” Jackson’s inhales, shuddering and shaky and Jaebum’s head falls, chin meeting his chest as the tears just continue to flow.  He thought he’d be done.  Done crying.  Done hurting.  Done suffering.  But it seems now like he’s only just beginning.  “I need someone who’ll want me, who’ll _love_ me for who I am.  Not for what I am.  And maybe that just isn’t you.”

     _It is me_ , Jaebum wants to say.  _It is.  I promise._ But he can’t say it, can’t get it out when his chest feels like it’s splintering and his lungs feel like they’re full of fire and the panic in his gut is turning into a dull...resignation.

    Jackson doesn’t want him.  Not now.  Not anymore.

     “And that’s okay,” Jackson says, voice soft and placating, and it’d feel like a balm on Jaebum’s burns if it didn’t _hurt_ , just as bad, just as strongly.  “I can’t...I can’t blame you for that.  But I also can’t just look the other way and be with you regardless.”

     Jaebum can’t breathe.  The room’s too small, closing in, and all he feels is his heart shattering beneath his rib cage, into thousands of fragments he’ll never get back. That he clearly will never get back, because Jackson holds them all, holds them _all_ in the palms of his hands.  It’s stifling, now, being in the same room as Jackson, being so _close_ to Jackson, when he’s the reason Jaebum’s crumpling in on himself.

     So he stands.  His legs feel weak, like gelatin, and he can’t straighten his back because his stomach _hurts_ and his heart feels so heavy that it’s weighing him down.  But he stands, leaning heavily on the coffee table and being cautious, so cautious, not to touch Jackson.

     He makes it to the door, on wobbly knees and shuffling feet that barely hold the weight of the Jackson’s eyes on his back. He goes to leave, but his hand stays rooted on the doorknob, unable to turn it until he gasps out, “I’m sorry,” around the snot and tears.

     There’s a sigh behind him.  A sigh and some rustling and the sound of the textbook, closed roughly and falling heavily onto the table.  “I’m sorry, too, Jaebum-hyung.  I really am.”

     Jaebum leaves.  He leaves with a heaviness in his gut and a heart shattered in his chest because while they’ve parted ways before, it’s never felt like this.

     It’s never felt so final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> Yeah. So that happened.
> 
> (Also, a big shout-out to those readers who foresaw this!)
> 
> Feel free to yell at me in the comments. 💔


	20. Regretting

     Jaebum returns to his apartment in a daze.

     It’s a miracle, really, that he even _makes_ it home.  His feet move on autopilot, and his eyes look without seeing and it feels somewhat like he’s wading through a dense fog.  He can’t focus on anything.  Can’t think about anything.  At least, anything other than the look on Jackson’s face, the weariness and resignation and the walls going up behind his eyes.  Walls that have never been there before.

     Someone takes pity on him, as he listlessly wanders home.  He thinks it’s a guy from his music program, but he doesn’t remember.  Whoever it is, he pushes Jaebum into a cab with a worried curse, pays in advance.

     The driver gets a little impatient, when he keeps asking for Jaebum’s address and keeps getting no response.  But eventually the driver’s shouted “Yah!” snaps Jaebum from his daze.  Jaebum manages to mutter out his address, and gazes as the winter landscape passes by, looking as cold and empty as he feels.

 

 

 

 

 

     He doesn’t really remember getting home. But he blinks, suddenly, and he’s standing in front of the fridge, a bottle of soju in his hand.

     Jaebum doesn’t drink.  Hardly ever.  Even the sight of a bottle has memories forming in his mind of his father, drunk with a bottle slipping from his fingers and venomous words sprouting from his tongue.

     _You’re a disappointment, Jaebum.  A right fucking shame.  We should never have had you.  You don’t deserve to be in this family._

Jaebum thinks that, in some respects, maybe his father wasn’t completely wrong.

     He opens the bottle.

 

 

 

 

 

     But he's only managed to get a third of the way through it when there’s a knock on his door.

     He’s not drunk yet.  Which Jaebum thinks is highly unfortunate, because he just wants to...forget.  For a while.  Or at least have the alcohol dull down the sharpness of the _pain_ and the _hurt_  that feels like it's slicing apart his insides.It’d be easier, _so much_ easier than how his brain is currently tormenting him with visions and memories of...of...

     He expects Bambam, on the other side of the door, eyes wide and pleading as he asks for sugar or milk or coffee or the dozen other things he mooches off them on a regular basis.  Or Jinyoung, maybe, if it’s one of those rare occasions in which he isn’t the impeccably mature adult he likes to pretend he is and has forgotten his keys.

     He hopes it’s neither.  Because both will ask questions, questions that Jaebum isn’t ready to answer.  Or even think about.

     He hopes it’s neither, but then again, he’d happily _take_ either if it meant not opening the door to...

     Mark.

     A rather _irate_ looking Mark, whose eyes are dark and stormy as they latch onto Jaebum’s, whose cheeks are flushed so dark as to rival the red of his hair, and whose thin frame seems to vibrate.  And Jaebum isn’t, has never _been_ , the type to be intimidated easily, but the way Mark’s lips are curled to show two sharp, _sharp_ canines, has Jaebum stumbling back a little as his omega cowers.

     “ _You._ ”

     Jaebum’s...Jaebum’s not sure if he’s ever heard so much barely restrained _fury_ and _vitriol_ conveyed in a single word before.  The force of it has him instinctively raising a hand in panic to push the door between them, to push _something_ between them, but Mark is fast, too fast, and blocks the door with an angry hand slapped against it.

     “Is this just a game to you?” he seethes, voice low and dripping with fury and there’s so much _anger_ in it that Jaebum gulps.  “Is _Jackson_ just a game to you?”

     _No_ , Jaebum wants to say.  _He’s everything_ but _a game, to me._ But the words linger, stale, on his tongue, as the fear closes around his throat, almost suffocating in its strength.

     “He must be, right?” Mark continues, voice dangerously low, stepping forward until Jaebum has no choice but to retreat and slamming the door behind him.  “Because no one would do this, no one would do what you’ve done to him, if they legitimately _cared_ about the other person.”

     He just stands there, fists clenching at his sides and eyes blazing fury and Jaebum’s...Jaebum’s _scared._ “And what pisses me off the most is that I _knew_ this was going to fucking happen.  He would’ve known too, if he wasn’t so idiotically _gone_ for you.”

     “I stood by.  I stood by, and I watched, while you led him on.  For _months_.”  And the fact that he’d done so, that he’d stood by, must only anger him more, because there’s a _crash_ that slices through the air like the mug he grabs from the little shelf by the door and sends flying, flying, flying towards the wall.  The smash it makes has Jaebum jolting, swallowing thickly as his heart pounds in his ears.  “He was so excited, every time he fucking saw you, and I was apparently just as stupid because I met you, that day at the gym, and I thought you might actually be good for him,” he says with a laugh, and the bitterness and regret in it has Jaebum’s chest seizing.  “Because Jackson, he talks to everyone, is friends with everyone, but he only lets people in so far.  He only trusts people so far.  But he immediately liked you, he immediately _trusted_ you, and every time he mentioned you his face lit up like the fucking sun, so I thought maybe it’d be fine.”

     _It should’ve been fine.  It should’ve been.  But I fucked everything up._

     “But then you played with him.  You toyed with him, led him around like he was a dog on a leash to just abandon him, to just go radio silent, whenever you felt like it.  And every time you did that, _I’m_ the one that held him when he broke down, _I’m_ the one that assured him that he _is_ enough, that it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t do anything to warrant being completely ignored and rejected.”

     And every retort, every defence, dies on his tongue.  Because Mark’s...not wrong.

     Mark’s not wrong, and the shame claws at Jaebum’s chest, sits heavy there alongside the regret and sadness and anger, at _himself._ Mark’s not wrong, so Jaebum just bows his head, withstands the barrage of criticism and fury because...he deserves it.

     He deserves it.  All of it, and more.

     “But this...I can’t stand by for this,” Mark says, voice eerily calm as he stalks forward and points an aggressive finger at Jaebum.  “I _won’t._ Because he hasn’t been sleeping, hasn’t been eating, has barely been going to fencing practice or class _to begin with_ , and this...what you just did is only going to make him _worse_ and - ”

     “Mark-hyung?  Jaebum-hyung?  What’s going on?”

     Jaebum’s eyes dart towards the doorway, to where the door had at some point opened without him hearing or noticing and there stands Jinyoung, messenger bag slung over his shoulder and eyes flickering between Mark and Jaebum with something that looks like a mixture of wariness and a bit of fear.

     Jaebum lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and it comes out raw and ragged.

     Mark whirls around, hands loosening and unclasping at the sight of Jinyoung but chest still heaving.  “Nothing, Jinyoung-ah,” he manages, voice deep and tense in a way that has Jinyoung’s eyes narrowing.  “We were just talking.”

     Jinyoung’s gaze darts back to Jaebum, then, holding his eyes steady and firm even as questions dance across them.  “Jaebum-hyung?”

     Jaebum swallows thickly, and even still, his “It’s fine, Nyoung-ah,” comes out squeaky and rough.

     “I could hear Mark-hyung yelling from down the hall,” Jinyoung says, sliding his messenger bag off his shoulder and dropping it by the closet.  It doesn’t evade Jaebum’s notice, how Jinyoung then walks over to position himself between Jaebum and Mark, almost defensively and protectively.  It doesn’t escape Mark’s notice either, if the way his jaw tenses is any indication.  “And if I’m not mistaken, that’s a mug shattered against the wall.  I would hardly call _that_ fine.  So what’s going on?”

     “We were just talking,” Mark says gruffly.  “About Jackson.”

     “Jackson?” Jinyoung asks with a frown, turning to look at Jaebum again.  “Is something wrong with Jackson?  Is it his ankle?”

     “No, Jackson’s fine,” Jaebum tells him, and sees the worry in Jinyoung’s eyes fade, lessen, just a little.

     “Jackson’s  _not_ fine, which is why we’re talking.  Which is why I’m here trying to fix things,” Mark intercedes, voice hardening again in a way that has Jinyoung’s back visibly stiffening.  “Because this idiot here keeps playing with him, and hurting him.”

     “And you thought that coming here and yelling at him and _throwing_ our possessions would solve things?  Would make things _better_?”

     Mark stills, something that looks like a hybrid of defensiveness and disbelief flashing across his eyes before he clenches his jaw and pushes it down.  “I - ”

     “Look at him,” Jinyoung says, voice dropping low and even like it only does when he’s  _pissed_ and gesturing a hand wildly towards Jaebum.  “Look at what you trying to “fix” things has done.  You think Jackson would appreciate this?”

     Mark’s eyes track back to Jaebum, and Jaebum isn’t sure what he sees, what he finds as his gaze sweeps over Jaebum’s tightly crossed arms and dipped head and hunched shoulders, but whatever it is has a resignation settling across his face.  “Look, you don’t understand - ”

     “What I _understand_ is that it’s time for you to leave.  Maybe for some anger management courses, since it seems you could benefit from those.”

     “Nyoung-ah - ”

     “Please, Mark-hyung.  Just...leave.  You’ve done enough.”

     There’s so much tension.  Between Jinyoung and Mark.  Between Mark and Jaebum.  Just generally, in the room, and it’s so thick that Jaebum’s inhale is sharp and shuddery and catching, drawing Jinyoung’s attention and making his frown deepen.  Mark hears it too, he must, because he nods once, curtly, before stalking out the door and slamming it behind him.

     “Sit down, hyung,” Jinyoung says, softly and gently and with so much _tenderness_ that Jaebum doesn’t _deserve._ “You’re shaking.”

     The indignant protest rises on Jaebum’s tongue, sputters out when his knees wobble and his hands shake before his eyes and he shivers like he did last winter when the heating in their apartment died.  So he just lets Jinyoung push him onto the couch, buries his head into his knees to fight back the nausea crawling up his throat.

     Jinyoung pads away, and it’s only when Jaebum hears the rush of water and click of the kettle against the stove that Jaebum realizes he’s making him tea.  And even that, even that kettle being filled and placed on the stove, has a fresh wave of regret and grief and sickness curling in his gut, because that kindness is just another thing, another thing _he doesn’t_ _deserve._

“Are you finally going to talk to me?”

     Jinyoung’s voice is nearer now, and there’s a hand that lands on Jaebum’s back and a weight that settles into the couch cushions beside him.  There’s so much to say, so much that needs to be said, so much that Jinyoung doesn’t _know_ but should, and the knowledge of that has Jaebum’s self-loathing just increasing ten-fold all over again.

     Jinyoung just clicks his tongue at Jaebum’s silence, pulling Jaebum into him so his head fits against Jinyoung’s stomach.  “Alright,” Jinyoung says, voice rumbling and vibrating under Jaebum’s ear as his hand weaves into Jaebum’s hair.  “You have until the tea’s ready.  And then you’re going to tell me what the hell is up with you lately, and why there’s an almost-empty bottle of soju on the table when we both know how you feel about alcohol.”

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum uses the time to think.

     Where to begin.  What to say.  How to explain the absolute fucking _irony_ that is his heart breaking, at no one’s fault but his own.

     But the time doesn’t help much.

     He doesn’t know, where to even start.  He can’t seem to drag himself out of his loathing and disappointment and resentfulness, at _himself_ , to consider it.

     So he’s listless, at a loss for words, when Jinyoung returns after pouring the rest of the soju down the sink to push the mug of tea into Jaebum’s hand.

     It’s hot, too hot to drink and it burns Jaebum’s mouth a little but he takes another gulp, hoping the pain will refocus his mind and let him feel something other than the internal hatred and odd feeling of emptiness.  Another gulp, another wave of the almost unbearable heat has him hissing a little. It has some of the haze clearing from his mind, but his hiss has Jinyoung cursing under his breath and slapping at his hand before taking the mug like Jaebum’s not to be trusted.

     It’s probably a fair assumption, when Jaebum just keeps ruining _everything_.  Even the things that are most important. _Especially_ those things, it seems.

     “Talk to me, hyung.”

     There’s a reprimand at the edge of Jinyoung’s voice, and it has Jaebum’s exhale shuddering in his chest.  “I don’t even know where to start, Nyoung-ah,” he admits quietly.

     He picks a bit at his finger, until he remembers Jackson doing the same and drops his hands like they’re burned.

     “Okay, then,” Jinyoung accedes, voice soft like Jaebum’s a cornered animal and a greater volume will send him scurrying away.  Not a bad assessment, Jaebum thinks.  “How about we start with today.  You went to see Jackson?”

     Just the _name_ has Jaebum’s throat feeling thick, so he settles on nodding.

     “Okay.  Why?”

     Jaebum wonders if it’s always been this hard to swallow, to find his voice.  “To...to confess to him.  Tell him I... _like_ him.”

     If Jinyoung’s surprised, his face doesn’t show it.  If anything, he looks distinctly _unsurprised_ , just blinking slowly and evenly at Jaebum, and Jaebum wonders if he’s been this obvious, all along, in how he feels for Jackson.  Been this obvious to everyone but himself.  “So what happened?”

     “I - I fucked it up,” Jaebum tells him, and there goes the dam, splintering apart and bursting and letting his emotions spill out.  His chest feels thick and so does his throat and the breath he sucks in sounds and feels more like a sob than anything else.  “I fucked it all up.  It’s all my fault, Nyoung-ah, I hurt him, I hurt him _so bad_ and now he doesn’t want me, he’ll never want to even _see_ me again and - ”

     Jinyoung hushes him, rubs a hand on Jaebum’s back even as his hyung collapses into himself, pressing his chest into his knees in a vain attempt to relieve some of the tension.  “Shh, hyung.  It’s alright.” 

     “It’s not,” Jaebum croaks, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes because the tears just want to keep coming and drown them.  “It’s not, Nyoung-ah.  It’s so, _so far_ from alright.”

     “Hyung,” Jinyoung says, voice soft but unwaveringly firm.  “What happened?

     “I - ” Jaebum stops, sucks in another breath, feeling the air sit heavy in his chest.  “I told him I could be with him now.  Now that I know he’s an alpha.”

     Jinyoung’s quiet for a moment, and Jaebum doesn’t have to look at him, doesn’t have to see him, to know his eyes are narrowed and mouth frowning.  “What do you mean, “now” that you know?”

     “I thought he was an omega.  All this time, I thought he was an omega.”

     The hand on his back stills, no longer tracing comforting little circles but sitting heavy, a crushing weight.  “You...why the hell did you think that?”

     Jaebum’s sigh is wet with all the tears lumping in his throat.  “That...that day we met Jackson.  When Bambam was talking about his crush on Youngjae, I thought he was talking about Jackson.  Because I’m a fucking idiot, apparently.”

     “Apparently,” Jinyoung hums.  The slight should sting Jaebum, but it doesn’t, not when it’s seemingly so true.  “This is what’s been bothering you, isn’t it?  These past weeks, _months_?”

     And hearing the bitterness and sharpness at the edge of his tone has Jaebum rubbing the sleeve of his sweater across his face to dry the tears.  And when he looks at Jinyoung, _looks_ at him, he sees hardness in his eyes and disappointment in the downward tilt of his mouth and somehow, that hurts almost more than...everything else.  “I thought I couldn’t have him.  I thought he was an omega, so I couldn’t have him.  But I just kept...falling for him anyway.”

     “You should’ve told me,” Jinyoung murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, and the disappointment is even more palatable as it sweeps across his face.  “If you’d have told me, if you’d have _talked_ about what was eating you, like we always do, like I _thought_ we always did, this entire thing could’ve been resolved.”

     “I know, Jinyoungie,” Jaebum says, the admonishment weighing heavy in his chest and crushing his windpipe.  “I’m sorry.”

     “Fuck, I’ve been so _worried_ about you!” Jinyoung exclaims, voice loud now as he surges to his feet to pace.  Jaebum just sits, watches him helplessly.  “One week you’d look so happy, like you couldn’t stop smiling if I _paid_ you to, and the next you’d be...retreating into yourself.  Barely eating.  Moping around, hardly leaving your room.  It’s like I was watching high-school-Jaebum all over again.  All sad and depressed and not wanting to talk to anyone.  Not wanting to talk to _me._ ”

     “That’s not it, Jinyoungie.  You know that was never it.”

     Jinyoung’s hand rakes through his hair, leaves it messy and haphazard.  “Isn’t it? Then why didn’t you tell me about David?”

     And the name shouldn’t still have this effect on Jaebum.  It shouldn’t leave his breath freezing in his lungs until he reminds himself how to breathe, or his hands trembling until he clasps them tightly, or the hairs on the back of his neck standing tall.  It shouldn’t, but it does, and Jinyoung notices it, with eyes that fill with a sadness that just shatters Jaebum’s heart even further.  “I...did.  Didn’t I?”

     “No, hyung,” Jinyoung sighs, squeezing his eyes shut and looking so, so tired.  Jaebum wonders how much of the exhaustion that creases at the corner of Jinyoung’s eyes, appears in the stressed tightness of his jaw, is his fault.  So _much_ is Jaebum’s fault.  “You didn’t.  I mean, I’d sensed something was wrong, but I didn’t know _anything_ about it until Jackson texted me this week making sure you didn’t have any classes with him.  And then I remembered how you were always being walked home from that one class, whether by Mark-hyung or Gyeomie, and how there’s suddenly a bottle of _pepper spray_ on your dresser and...I put it together.”

     “I - ” Jaebum’s mouth works, opening and closing but the explanation won’t form on his tongue because...he doesn’t know.  Why didn’t he tell Jinyoung?  “With my heat, it must’ve just...slipped my mind.  I’m sorry, Nyoung-ah.”

     Jinyoung just presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and breathes.  The way he jerks away from Jaebum’s hand as it grabs onto his wrist has Jaebum feeling like he’ll drown, in all the sadness and regret and guilt and _disappointment._ “He didn’t...he didn’t touch you, did he?”

     “He didn’t, Nyoung-ah,” Jaebum assures him immediately, because he _hates_ how Jinyoung’s voice sounds so small and worried.  “I promise he didn’t.”

     “I’d kill him.  I’d kill him if he did.  You know that, right?”

     And there’s a resoluteness in Jinyoung’s eyes when he finally withdraws his hands and looks at him.  There’s a firmness in his jaw and even though Jaebum can tell Jinyoung’s upset with him, can tell that the hurt runs deep and not unrightfully so, Jaebum’s never doubted him.  “I know, Jinyoungie.  I didn’t mean to not tell you.  I swear, I didn’t.  I went into heat and by the time I was back, by the time I was _myself_ again, it was the furthest thing from my mind.”

     “It’s not just _that_ , it’s - ” and Jinyoung pauses then, to shake his head a bit and squeeze his eyes shut, for the briefest of moments.  “It’s fine.  It can wait.  This...this isn’t about me,” Jinyoung says, and there’s a flash of something across his face that looks almost like _insecurity_ and it has Jaebum feeling nauseous.  “Some things are more important.”  Jaebum wants to disagree, because while there are few indispensible things in Jaebum’s life, few things he _couldn’t_ live without, Jinyoung tops the list.  But Jinyoung’s already continuing.  “Tell me...tell me what happened, okay?  And we’ll make it better.  We’ll find a way to fix this.”

 

 

 

 

 

     So Jaebum...

     Jaebum tells him everything.

     Everything he should’ve been telling him, all along.

     He tells Jinyoung about the diner and movie-night and how he’d been so, so far gone, before he even realized it.  How falling in.. _.like_ with Jackson was like stepping into quicksand - slow and frightening but impossible to escape, and how _trying_ to escape only sucked you in deeper.  He tells Jinyoung about the late-night phone calls, and falling asleep on the phone, and how being around Jackson makes him feel calm and content and happy, happy in a way he’s never expected for himself because _you know my parents, you_ know  _how they are, Jinyoungie_.  He tells Jinyoung about the party, and Jackson staying the night, and Jackson confessing to him, over tired eyes and hesitance.  And he tells Jinyoung about rejecting him, rejecting him because he _couldn’t have him_ only to come to the realization, over the next several weeks, that it didn’t matter.  It didn’t matter if he shouldn’t have Jackson, because he wanted him, wanted him like he’s never wanted _anything_.  It didn’t matter if his parents were disappointed, or infuriated, or protested and complained, because Jaebum would have Jackson and that’s... _that’s_ what mattered.

     That would be enough.  _More_ than enough.  It’d be everything.

     And he tells Jinyoung about learning the truth, from Youngjae and Yugyeom, and fucking everything up regardless.

     And when it’s over, when Jaebum’s ripped his heart from his chest and laid it bare at Jinyoung’s feet, Jinyoung just...

     Groans.

     “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

     Jaebum frowns because, honestly, tell him something he _doesn’t_ know.

     “Did you actually tell him, _with words_ , that you had already decided he was worth it _before_ you learned he was an alpha?”

     “...I don’t...think so.”

     Yeah.  Fucking idiot, indeed.

     “Then he’s probably upset because he thinks you want him because he’s an alpha.”

     Jaebum blinks at Jinyoung.  “But I don’t.  I want him because he’s _Jackson._ ”

     Jinyoung makes that face he makes, when he wants to cuff Jaebum on the side of the head for being _so incredibly stupid_ but won’t because of age hierarchies, so he settles on rolling his eyes.  “Yeah, hyung, but you have to tell _him_ that.”

     Jaebum pauses.  “Should I...should I do that now?”

     “I wouldn’t.  Just...give him some time.  To cool off a bit.  Give yourself some time, like you _should’ve_ done today, but didn’t because...ahem, say it with me, _fucking idiot_.”

     Jaebum doesn’t even argue with that.  It’s true.

     And he sees just how _true_ it is when Jinyoung goes to pat him on the shoulder, but his hand just...hovers there.  Like he can’t, or doesn’t want to, make that contact.  And Jaebum looks at his face, sees the sadness and hurt and _pain_ in his eyes.  It’s there, in the tension in his shoulders too and the jerky way he walks to his room.

     He shuts the door to his bedroom.

     They don’t do that.  Not often, here.  Partly because there’s no need to, when things like privacy and personal boundaries are long a thing of the past between them, and partly to reassure the other that they’re always there.  Always just a few steps away, if they’re needed.  That they’re always willing to be disturbed or interrupted because the _love_ and the _respect_ and the _trust_ is just that deep.  That they have nothing to hide, nothing to keep from the other, no need for closed doors when everything between them is so, so _open._

     But now, the door’s closed.  And the click it makes sounds explosive, sounds like a _bomb_ that tears Jaebum apart and leaves shrapnel in his chest and just has him bleeding, and bleeding, and bleeding.

     Yeah.  A fucking idiot.

     He wonders if he’s cursed or something, to hurt the people who matter most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for being a little late with this update. Work's been exhausting, so writing hasn't been going smoothly and I couldn't reach a place where I was happy with this chapter. But I hope it's not as terrible as I feel it is, and that you enjoyed it. 💚


	21. Explaining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Good to see you again!
> 
> Just a warning, before we get started, that this is a heavy, emotional chapter. There are references to sexual assault (in a nightmare) in the first section, and the last segment, in all italics, references the past emotional abuse of a child. So if either of these are triggering to you in any way, PLEASE use caution and don't hesitate to avoid those parts.

     That night, he dreams of David.

     He dreams of a locked door and an empty hallway and two other alphas, who just stand, impassively and expressionless, at the door to Jaebum’s freedom.  He dreams of one hand closing around his neck while another fumbles with the button of his jeans, and in the dream, in the _nightmare_ , that hand succeeds in yanking down his pants and flipping him over.  He dreams of not being able to fight back, to resist.  He dreams of no one coming to save him.

     He awakens then.  Fortunately.  He awakens on his stomach, screaming so loud his throat is hoarse and stinging with pain that feels like a thousand needles.

     He feels _dirty_.  Dirty like the hands that were on him in his dream had left lingering, shadowy bruises in reality.  His body aches, like the groping and squeezing and fondling all happened here too, not just in his nightmare.

     “Hyung?  You alright?”

     Jaebum knows he must look wild, hair sticking in all directions and face wet with tears that keep falling and breathing like he’s just finished running a hundred miles.  He must, because even in the dim light of the moon, he can see the soft look on Jinyoung’s face, how the tension and the hurt bleeds into care and concern.

     Jinyoung pads over, silent in his socked feet, and crawls into the bed beside Jaebum.  He doesn’t say anything.  Doesn’t need to.  All he does is sigh a little when Jaebum jolts away from the hand Jinyoung reaches out to wipe away the wetness from his cheeks, and tucks himself behind him with one arm fitted around his stomach and one ankle slid between his.

     His presence is comforting, soothing.  It’s a balm over Jaebum’s body, burning from the dream and what it’d felt like to have hands moving over him that he didn’t want.

     Still, it takes him almost an hour to stop shaking.  It takes him more to fall back asleep, just staring at the wall as Jinyoung’s thumb rubs small circles over his chest.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum doesn’t have to be a genius, to consider what the dream means.  He spends most of the night considering it.

     He had been expecting the incident to make an appearance in his dreams.  Because events like that tend to plague you, torment you, haunt you.  He dreams of his parents yelling at him, of their disapproving eyes, of his father finally giving in to his unending desire to strike Jaebum.  If he dreams of those, wouldn’t he dream of David?

     But he never did.  Not until now.

     Jaebum wonders if it’s because of Jackson.  Sure, Jaebum had fought David off, and was no damsel in distress needing a knight in shining armour to ride to his rescue, but Jackson had come.  He’d come, and Jaebum had been safe.

     And Jaebum’s always felt that with Jackson.  Safe.

     Even when he thought Jackson was an omega, there was something about him.  Something about how he cared so much, and took such great care of those things he cared about, that they’d be safe.  He wouldn’t harm them, and wouldn’t allow anyone or anything else to either.  He wore his heart on his sleeve, and pushed it onto others, and anyone bearing even a fragment of that heart would be...safe.  Protected.

     So Jaebum wonders.  Wonders if that feeling of safety kept the dreams at bay.  Because as much as he’d not dreamed about David, he’d also not dreamed of his parents.  Their slaps had been replaced by Jackson’s hands, soft and languid on him.  Their vile words had been replaced by Jackson’s praise and love.  Their danger had been replaced by Jackson’s safety.

     And though both were a form of torture, leaving a sour taste in Jaebum’s throat when he awakened, he’d take Jackson’s hands and praise and love and safety any day.

     Not anymore, though.  Jackson’s gone, taking Jaebum’s heart and safety with him, and Jaebum feels somewhat like all his fears and insecurities are circling him like vultures, eager to pick him apart.

 

 

 

 

 

     Jaebum’s surprised, somewhat, when he heads into the kitchen when he finally manages to drag his ass out of bed and finds Bambam there, feet kicked up on the kitchen table with a textbook propped lazily in his lap.

     “No feet on the table.”

     Bambam jerks a bit at Jaebum’s admonishment. For a second it looks like he wants to ignore Jaebum, like he normally does because he’s a brat and just generally an ungrateful little shit, but then he spies something on Jaebum’s face and his feet slowly descend to the floor.  “Morning, hyung,” he says, voice light even though his eyes stare at Jaebum with a shrewdness that has unease curling in his stomach.

    So Jaebum just grunts, bee-lining to the coffee machine.  “What’re you doing here?  Out of food?”

     “Wow, hyung, rude.  Don’t you enjoy my company?”

     Jaebum turns, brow raised as he eyes the mug sitting on the kitchen table.  “Out of coffee?”

     “...Yeah.”

     Jaebum just snorts, feeling a little guilty when it comes out sounding bitter.

     “Also, Jinyoungie-hyung asked me to drop by.”

     That gets Jaebum’s attention from where he’s rifling through the cupboards looking for something to eat, feeling a little irritated when he doesn’t find anything suitably junky-enough to help combat the ache in his chest.  “I need a babysitter now, do I?”

     “He seemed to think so,” Bambam replies with a shrug, leaning back in the chair and sliding one foot up onto the table again, watching Jaebum like he’s testing him.  Jaebum just sighs, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose where the headache lingers, already.  “Considering how you are, apparently a “fucking idiot.”

     “Language.”

     Bambam doesn’t say anything.  All Jaebum hears is the scrape of the chair and the shuffle of Bambam’s socked feet across the floor before there are spindly arms weaving around his middle and a chin tucking itself over his shoulder.

     Bambam holds him like that.  Humming softly and rocking them slightly and hand rubbing soothing little circles at Jaebum's waist.

     “He told you?”

    “Just that he was upset with you,” Bambam hums, clearly having understood Jaebum despite his voice being muffled in Bambam’s blue sweatshirt.  “But I’ve heard enough between Youngjae-hyung, Gyeomie, and Mark-hyung to figure it out, I think.”

     Jaebum’s sigh is thick and heavy as he withdraws from Bambam’s hold to retrieve his coffee, immediately taking a sip to let the burn clear his mind.  “Great.  Are you upset with me too?”

     Bambam pouts a little, tilts his head.  “Should I be?”

     “I don’t know.  Everyone else seems to be.  Not unjustifiably.”  Jaebum sighs. “Hell, _I’m_ upset with me.”

     “Hyungie, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

     “I hurt Jinyoung, by keeping things from him.  We don’t keep things from each other, and yet I kept things from him, _important_ things.”  And Jaebum’s chest just _aches,_ knowing that, and there’s a burning behind his eyes that has him tilting his head back to blink away the wetness.  “I hurt Jackson, too, by being...selfish and leading him on and just being an absolute asshole. They shouldn’t forgive me.  Neither of them.”

     Bambam squints at him, runs a hand down Jaebum’s arm. “You made a mistake, hyung.  Well, several, but that’s not the point.  _The point_ is that you didn’t mean to hurt them.  Sure, maybe if you weren’t completely inept at communicating it might’ve have worked in your favour, but it’s not like you _meant_ it.”

     “You didn’t see them, Bam-ah.  You didn’t see them.”

     “No,” he admits, voice pitched soft and comforting.  Jaebum almost forgets, sometimes, that Bambam can be like this.  So serious and understanding and mature and... _not-pain-in-the-ass-like._ “But...you had your reasons.  Right?  I mean...your parents are Grade-A shitty humans who honestly deserve like three solid decades of terrible luck.”  Jaebum’s laugh is a little watery, but there nonetheless.  “And anyways, it’s...different, for us omegas.  We have more to worry about.  The world’s less forgiving, for us.”

     “Yeah,” Jaebum sighs, because _finally_ someone  _gets it._ “Yeah, it is.”

     “Youngjae’s parents are talking about disowning him.”

     Jaebum stops, feeling oddly like the blood in his veins has frozen in place.  “What?”

     “Yeah,” Bambam says, heart breaking in his eyes and it’s Jaebum’s turn, now, to set aside his coffee and reach for Bambam’s hands.  “They told him they would, unless he stops seeing us.”

     “Bammie,” Jaebum sighs.  “Bammie, I’m so sorry.”

     Bambam’s head dips, for the briefest of moments as the hands in Jaebum’s tremble, before it lifts with something like resignation written across his face.  “We both know it happens, hyung.  It happens for us.  And Gyeomie...he’s trying to be there, trying to be supportive and understanding, but he’s...he’s an alpha.  There are repercussions he’ll never have to deal with, so he just doesn’t get it.  And neither do Jack-hyung or Jinyoungie-hyung.”

     Jaebum swallows thickly.

     “I can talk to them, if you want?”

     And the rush of affection, of fondness and gratitude, leaves Jaebum feeling somewhat dizzy.  “Thanks, Bammie.  But I made my bed, I need to lie in it.”

     “Well,” Bambam drawls, hint of mischief flirting across his face and Jaebum immediately steels himself for the disaster that look can only mean.  “Do it right and you won’t be lying in that bed alone for much longer.”

     Bambam’s laugh is high and bright when he stumbles back a step at Jaebum’s push, and Jaebum feels a weight lifting in his chest.

     “But in all seriousness, hyung,” Bambam continues, “just explain things to Jack-hyung.  Write it out, if that’ll help, and Youngjae-hyung or I can drop it off.  He’ll understand.  Not as much as I do, but he will.  He’s too good not to.”

     Too good.  Yeah.  Sounds about right.

     “When’d you get so wise and grown up?”

     Bambam snorts.  “My mom and dad are fighting.  I have no choice but to be the voice of reason.”

     Jaebum startles for a moment, because he was _sure_ that Bambam’s father had passed away when he was young, until it hits him...

     Mom and dad.  Jinyoung and...himself.

     Jaebum feels the flush rise up his neck, and Bambam only laughs some more.

     “Well, I gotta go to class.  Booooo,” Bambam groans dramatically, rolling his eyes as he moves away to gather his backpack and slide his textbook into it.  “‘Breadth requirements are good for a student’s development,’ my ass.  All they’re good for is putting me to sleep.  Especially when all you idiots are keeping me up with your drama.  I thought _I_ was supposed to be the dramatic one in this family.”

     Jaebum snorts.

     “See you later, hyung.  Just let me know if you need me, yeah?”

     “Yeah.  Thanks, Bammie.”

     “Thank me when you’re finally getting laid, and when you and mom kiss and make-up.  Well...maybe don’t do that.  Mark-hyung might throw a fit.  Or a laptop, like he did at Youngjae-hyung last week.”

     “I...okay?”

     “Fried chicken would be good.  Or, ooh, I saw a _magnificent_ bomber jacket online yesterday, I could send you the link to - ”

     “Fried chicken it is.”

     Bambam smiles, crooked and adorable and Jaebum’s heart just kind of...melts, in his chest.  “And I guess this’ll teach you to listen to me, huh?”

     And damn it, but Jaebum _smiles_ as Bambam’s cackles fade down the hallway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

     He spends the afternoon pondering it. Because seemingly, pondering things is something he hasn’t been doing enough of lately.

     He decides.

     Texting is an option, but it feels somewhat...impersonal.  Not to mention how much of a pain in the ass it would be, to have to type out the message Jaebum knows is going to be long.  Has to be long, for him to do this right.

     Doing something right.  Jaebum forgets what that feels like.

     And a letter may be...old-fashioned.  But it’s best here, he thinks.  He hopes.  Because it might convey his sincerity more, and there’s something in the scratch of the pen, of seeing his own writing, that has always made songwriting on paper easier for him.

     Anything to make this easier.  Anything to make this _right._

 

 

 

_Jackson-ah.  Sseun-ah._

_I don’t know if I can still call you that.  If I still have that privilege.  It’s okay if I don’t.  I’d understand._

_I don’t know, either, where to start.  Maybe by explaining what this is?  It’s an apology.  An explanation, too, because I don’t trust myself to be able to tell you it in person.  We’ve both seen how that turns out.  So when Bambam suggested I write it out, instead, I figured that maybe for once that scrawny ass kid had a point._

_I’ve never been good with words.  With saying them, with piecing them together with foresight and wisdom and coherency, on the spot.  Again...probably not a surprise to you.  It’s alright when I’m writing them.  When a pen’s an intermediary.  I couldn’t dream about being a songwriter and producer if that wasn’t the case.  But I freeze up without that pen._

_I froze up on you.  In the worst possible moment._

_I’m sorry, Sseun-ah.  I’m so, so sorry.  For making you feel anything less than perfect, anything less than everything.  I never meant to.  I used my words carelessly, and I regret that because of all the things you deserve, careless isn’t one of them._

_You do deserve an explanation, if you’re willing to hear it.  Or read it.  No obligation though.  You could stop reading here, burn this entirely, turn my words into smoke.  Again, I’d understand._

_I just...want to make sure_ you _understand._

 _I was always supposed to be an alpha.  Both my parents are alphas, and their parents before them, and generations before them.  There’ve been rumours, of course.  Rumours of betas and omegas born and “discarded of,” abandoned at orphanages before their existence could come to light.  But for the last few generations, it’s only been alphas.  There hasn’t been anything_ but  _an alpha.  So it was always expected that I’d be one too._

_I had to be one.  My parents couldn’t have another child, after me, so it was as necessary as it was expected._

_And with that expectation, I was raised as an alpha.  Was taught that showing emotion meant weakness.  That the greatest aspiration was to be strong and steady and to mate with an alpha girl and continue the family bloodline.  It was never about finding happiness, and so I never dreamed of it.  Never thought of it, because why think and dream of it if you know it can’t happen? It was a duty, and fulfilling my duty and continuing the proud and revered family lineage, they said, would be the greatest honour._

_It’s not just a family thing, you know, but a cultural thing, among my parents’ colleagues and family “friends.”  They’re all the same._

_Omegas, for my parents, are weak.  Weak and unreliable and meant only to be bred.  Employing them is useless, having them study even moreso, because they’re meant for one purpose: to bear and rear pups, tend the home, and be a warm body to satiate an alpha’s desires and rut._

_That’s it. That’s what I was taught.  And growing up, I never questioned it.  I should’ve._

_I could go into it more.  About how my parents wouldn’t hire an omega maid, because she was too weak and untrustworthy to be relied upon to keep her hands off of the home’s alphas, off of me.  About how I attended an alpha-only school for a year or so, because omega classmates would only distract me and try to seduce me, and omega teachers were not intelligent enough to instruct me in all the things I needed to know.  About the after-school classes I was forced to attend, to learn to be a dominant alpha and to make omegas bow to your will._

_But I’m sure you get the gist._

_They used to love me, then.  When I was an alpha-in-the-making, and hadn’t disappointed them yet.  When I was still malleable into the dominant and aggressive alpha I was supposed to be.  I remember once, getting into a fight at school, and my parents didn’t discipline me. They_ applauded _me, because it had shown the dominance and aggression I was supposed to have._

_But I wouldn’t be that.  I wouldn’t be an alpha._

_I presented at 16.  Woke up in heat, and my mom found me._

_I don’t think they’ve loved me, since then._

_Every time my mother looks at me, I see the disappointment in her eyes.  Like it’s my fault, like it was my choice.  Like I didn’t pray, night after night, that my presentation was just a fluke.  That I wasn’t just a weak, measly bitch to be bred._

_My father’s worse.  I always remember him drinking, but it was worse, after that.  I’d find him downstairs, bottle in his hand.  He’d swear at me for being a disappointment._

_He never hit me.  I knew he wanted to, could see his fingers twitch with the need to.  I always expected a hard slap across the face, fist to the gut.  But he never did.  After all, my only purpose now was to find a strong alpha to mate with, one strong enough and virile enough to produce alpha children and restore the respect I’d stripped away from my family.  And I had to be pretty enough for that, because that’s all an omega is supposed to be.  Pretty and breedable._

_It wasn’t all their fault.  I’d hear the neighbours, talking about me.  Laughing at me.  How much of a shame it was, how they’d be mortified to be in my parents' position._

_My parents looked into hormone replacement therapy, to see if they could turn me into an alpha.  Into less of a shame, less of a disappointment.  “There must be a way,” they told the doctor, “so we don’t have to suffer like this.”  But the doctors told them that there was a 99.7% chance that any therapy would leave me completely infertile.  And I guess the only thing worse than having an omega for a son is having an only child who can’t reproduce._

_Priorities, I guess._

_They pulled me from school.  Started homeschooling me, and found some classes online for me about how to be a “good” omega.  How to be docile and submissive, and please my alpha.  They started trying to arrange a marriage for me, with alpha sons of colleagues with similarly strong alpha lineage.  Anything to restore some semblance of pride to my family._

_But I wasn’t “receptive,” they said.  It was hard to be, when I’d been raised as an alpha, around alphas.  When I’d been raised to have dreams of a career, only to have them suddenly stripped away.  I didn’t know what I was supposed to be, as an omega.  How omegas acted.  So I was always “too aggressive,” “too intimidating,” not warm or welcoming or submissive enough.  So none of those matches worked._

_Jinyoungie urged me to move away with him, to school.  To a school distant enough to get us out, get us away, from family and expectations and disappointment.  And surprisingly, my parents...agreed.  They didn’t care what I studied.  Music production or engineering, it wouldn’t have made a difference to them, because I wasn’t there to learn.  I wasn’t there to learn and work towards a career.  I was there to find a mate, an educated alpha who could provide for me and our family, so what I studied in school wouldn’t matter because I wouldn’t be using it anyway._

_That was my plan.  Well, not so much my plan, as the future to which I had resigned myself.  Either find an alpha in school here, or, all else failed, return home this summer and mate with an alpha my parents selected for me._

_But then I met you.  I met you after Bambam had been gushing about this blond omega he was crushing on, and he was talking about Youngjae, but you showed up at my door, at his introduction, and I thought it was you._

_I tried to keep my distance.  Kept trying to convince myself it would be the best thing to do, because you were an omega.  But you were also...you.  You were right, you know.  When you mentioned how odd it was, to feel like you’ve known someone for an eternity despite only knowing them for days, for weeks.  I don’t connect with people easily, have never made friends simply, but you...got me.  You understood me.  I kept trying to convince myself the feelings I was developing for you were just platonic.  That the dip in my stomach when you called, that the warmth in my chest when I’d see you, that the jitters down my spine when you touched me, were just friendship-based.  And in the moments in which I failed, in which I realized how good you were and how good you made me feel, I would draw away._

_I’m sorry I did that.  I shouldn’t have.  I should've been honest with you, from the beginning, but I didn’t want to admit to myself how much I liked you.  It was easier, that way._

_But it didn’t matter.  It didn’t matter because you kept being you.  And I never stood a chance._

_I rejected you for that reason.  There was a moment, when you’d first said you liked me, that there was a happiness that burst in my chest.  Because being loved was something I never even dared to dream about.  But then I remembered my parents.  I remembered my duty and disappointment, disappointment, disappointment and wanting, for once, to not be one._

_And then when I learned from Youngjae and Yugyeom that you weren’t an omega, I had no thoughts but to tell you immediately because all my problems had been solved.  I was wrong in that, too._

_I didn’t tell you this, but I’d went to them, to talk to them, having already decided that I wanted to be with you.  Not omega Jackson, or alpha Jackson.  Just Jackson, although there’s nothing “just” about you.  I had come to realize that that was enough, for me._

_You were enough._

_But it didn’t come out right, I didn’t tell you that as I should have, and I just made things worse._

_So let me tell you now.  You were enough.  You ARE enough.  I had decided that, before I knew you were an alpha.  Please, I just...need you to know you’re enough._

_It’s okay, Sseun-ah, if you can’t forgive me.  So please know that I’m not writing this with any expectations.  I’m writing this to give you the explanation you deserved all along.  To tell you that, although it might sound cliché, it’s not you.  It was never you.  It was always me, and my past, and my baggage, and the family who burdened me with it, hoping I’d drown._

_You deserve the world, Jackson Wang.  All of it, and more.  And maybe I can’t give it to you, but someone will.  You’re like the sun, Sseun-ah.  So bright and beautiful and maybe I was Icarus, flying closer than I should’ve, than I had any right to.  If there’s one thing I’ve come to realize, over the past days, over the past weeks, is that I don’t deserve you, and you deserve far better than me._

_And you’ll find it, Sseun-ah.  You’ll find someone less weighed down than I, with fewer issues than I, who’ll let you in and love you better than I ever could._

_And I’ll be so happy for you when you do.  Because you deserve it._

_You deserve everything._

_Jaebum_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone up to cry together? Because this made me sad.


	22. Crumbling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhm...yeah. Prepare for some more angst, I guess?

     Jaebum wasn’t necessarily expecting Jackson to text him.  Or call him.  Or come to his apartment.  Or just generally seek him out.  He was honest, in the letter, when he wrote that he wasn’t expecting any grand reunion, wasn’t expecting Jackson to run to his apartment and jump into his arms and immediately forgive him.  That he just wanted to...explain, and ensure that Jackson knew that all the inadequacies were on Jaebum’s part, not his own.

     That would be enough. 

     But still, it stings, a little, that it’s been an entire week and a half since Bambam took the letter.  It’s been an entire week and a half, and he’s heard nothing.

     It stings, but Jaebum can’t blame him.

 

 

 

 

 

     He flirts with the idea, briefly, of texting Bambam.  Just to make sure that Jackson did, indeed, get the letter.  That Bambam didn’t drop it off with Mark or something, because Mark would probably just set fire to it and watch it burn in his sink with a maniacal expression on his face because he just hates Jaebum that much.

     And really, Jaebum can’t blame _him_ either.

     So he thinks about texting Bambam.

     He doesn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

     He doesn’t have to either, because his phone makes the little clicking noise it makes when Bambam texts, set to the chime Bambam loves because he thinks it sounds like clicking high heels.

 

**Bam-ah**

_hyuuuuunnnngggggg_

**Jaebum**

...

 

**Bam-ah**

_im dying and thats ur rsponse?_

_wow._

_#loved_

**Jaebum**

_You text me that you’re dying at least once a week._

_It’s lost its effect._

_#Boywhocrieddying_

**Bam-ah**

_u...u used a #_

_i hear ppl screaming_

_buildings crashing_

_the wrld, its_

_ending_

_i’m 2 young and fabulos for dis ending_

_tell Yugjae i loved them_

**Jaebum**

_Yawn._

**Bam-ah**

_u wound me_

_WOUND me_

**Jaebum**

_Did you want something?  Or just decided I need to be more miserable than I already am?_

**Bam-ah**

_awwwwww, hyungie_

_it’ll be ok!_

_he just prbly hasnt read it yet_

_Youngjae-hyung says hes been prty upset_

**Jaebum**

...

 

**Bam-ah**

_...oops?_

_i dont think i was suppose to tell u dat_

     Jaebum rubs his chest, hoping it’ll help ease the aching in it.  It doesn’t.

 

 

**Bam-ah**

_anyways_

_spking of Youngjae-hyung_

**Jaebum**

_He doing alright?_

**Bam-ah**

_uh...kinda?_

_not rlly_

_he wont, like, go anywre wit us_

_won’t leave my aptmnt_

_which normlly i’d be totlly cool with, because_

_SEXY TIMES_

_but yeah_

_him moping arnd is totally unsexy_

_complete boner killr_

**Jaebum**

_That was...so much information I never wanted or needed to know._

**Bam-ah**

_dont lie 2 urself, hyung_

_its not healthy_

**Jaebum**

_So...Youngjae?_

**Bam-ah**

oh right!

 

**Jaebum**

_I feel like I have a duty to send him this._

_As evidence of how quickly you forgot about him._

**Bam-ah**

_:O_

_i did NOT forgt about him_

_he is sunshine and perfct and everthing good in this wrld_

_watered my crops, cleard my skin, etc_

**Jaebum**

_Sure._

**Bam-ah**

_anyway_

_hyung_

_think u cld do me a favour?_

**Jaebum**

_I already bought you chicken.  Don’t push it._

**Bam-ah**

_please?_

_prtty pretty please?_

_for ur fav son?_

**Jaebum**

_If you’re what my son will be like, I’m considering never having children._

_But what do you want?_

**Bam-ah**

_cld you maybe_

_possbly_

_go over 2 my apartment and just_

_take Youngjae-hyung somewhere?_

_get him out for an hr?_

     Jaebum’s throat feels oddly thick at Bambam’s request. He doesn’t even need a moment to think.

 

**Jaebum**

_Sure, Bammie. He’s over there now?_

**Bam-ah**

_yesssss_

_hyung_

_thank u!_

_im in class for another cple of hours and Yugy’s at dance pract_

_so i dont want him to be alone and sad_ _L_

**Jaebum**

_Np.  Going over now._

 

 

 

 

     Youngjae looks...not good, and the sight of him as he opens the door, hair messy and skin pale and looking so, so sad as he hides his hands in his sleeves, just has Jaebum’s heart feeling like it implodes in his chest.

     He doesn’t know Youngjae, all that well.  Still, it doesn’t stop him from being fairly protective of the kid.  Given how much Bambam cares about him, and how frankly adorable he is.

     “Jaebum-hyung?”

     Jaebum forces a smile at him, even though he wants to frown at how _small_ and _sad_ the kid’s voice is.  “Hey, Youngjae-ah.”

     “Hi,” Youngjae responds, mouth tipping with the slightest of frowns as he fiddles with the sleeve of his sweater.  “Bammie isn’t here.  If you’re looking for him.”

     “I know,” Jaebum says, softening his voice because Youngjae looks like a chastised little puppy, all droopy ears and wide eyes and shuffling feet.  “I was looking for you, actually.  Feel like joining me for a coffee?  Or a tea, I guess, if that’s more your preference.  Or a hot chocolate or a smoothie.  They have those too.  Just, ah...whatever you want.”

     Youngjae cocks his head at him, looking a little confused as he continues to pick, pick, pick at his hem and Jaebum just really wants to wrap the kid up and protect him from all the evils in the world.  “Sorry, hyung.  Thanks, but I’m...not the best company, today.”

     Jaebum hums.  “Well, Jinyougie would tell you that I’m not the best company _any_ day.  So I don’t mind.  I feel like I haven’t had a chance to get to know you, with Bam and Yugyeom hogging you all the time.”

     And Jaebum thanks _that_ rare burst of social awareness, because Youngjae just blinks at him slowly, deciding, before he nods.  “Okay, hyung.  Just let me get my jacket.”

 

 

 

 

 

     Youngjae ends up ordering a hot chocolate, with whipped cream drizzled with chocolate sauce, and honestly Jaebum shouldn’t be surprised when the kid himself is just too sweet for this world.

     Jaebum orders two of the chocolate-dipped pastries he sees Youngjae trying - and failing - to eye discretely, along with a black coffee.  He tuts at Youngjae when he reaches for his wallet, and accompanies it with narrowed eyes that have Youngjae pausing with his hand still in his pocket.  “I don’t want your money,” Jaebum tells him, resolutely.  “I invited you out, so my treat. Please,” he adds when Youngjae just continues to look at him a little hesitantly.  “Bambam would force me into one of his outfits and blackmail me with the photos forever if I made you pay.  Seriously.”

     That has the corner of Youngjae’s mouth flickering, and his hand finally retreating with a soft, “Thanks, hyung.”

     They get settled at a table by the window. It’s too nice outside not to, the sky too clear a blue and the sun beaming too brightly to not want to marvel at how the light has the fresh snow turning into diamonds, shiny and brilliant on the pavement.  Probably why the café is so empty, Jaebum muses.  Too nice a day to be cooped up inside.

     “Thanks again, hyung,” Youngjae says, humming a little with content as he digs into his pastry.  “I think I...needed this, needed to get out.  Maybe, ah...more than I realized.”

     “I get that.”  God, he _does_ , because this is the first time he’s been outside of his apartment for anything but classes in...a while, too.

     “Has...has Bammie told you?”

     Jaebum doesn’t need to ask.  “Just a bit.  Sorry,” he adds, a little sheepishly.

     “No, it’s fine,” Youngjae says quickly.  “I know you’re close, so.  Yeah.  Expected it.  He, ah...mentioned you don’t have the greatest relationship with your parents, either?”

     _Disappointment, shame, should never have been born_ , all flash like disembodied voices through Jaebum’s mind, until he manages to push them aside to focus on Youngjae’s doe-like eyes in front of him.  “Yeah.  Although that might be an understatement, I’m realizing.”

     Youngjae just nods solemnly, nibbles at his pastry.  “How do you...deal with that?”

     “I...I think I’m still trying to figure that out,” Jaebum admits.  “For a long time, I just tried to...make them happy.  Even if that meant that I wasn’t, and wouldn’t be.  But I recently realized that it doesn’t matter.  That I would...regret it, if I lived my life for them instead of for myself.”

     Youngjae sighs, and his frame shakes with it in a way that has Jaebum’s chest constricting  “I just...they don’t understand?  They don’t understand that this...this...it isn’t just a phase, or me acting out, or me punishing them, or something.  It’s what I want, and what makes me happy.  _They_ make me happy.”

     Jaebum can’t help it, but he smiles a bit at that.  “You make them happy, too.”

     That has Youngjae pouting a bit, and it takes more effort than it should for Jaebum to resist just...reaching over and smushing his face in his hands with how _fucking cute_ he is.  “They keep saying they’re just...being selfish.  Using me.  Until they’ll be done with me and cast me aside so they can settle down together and I’ll just...be alone.  Used.  Unlovable.  But I don’t...I don’t think so?” Youngjae says, huffing out a breath. “I don’t think that’s true?”

     Jaebum thinks of Bambam’s anxiety, before asking Youngjae out.  About how bright his smile and deep his flush are when he talks about him, even now.  Jaebum thinks of an awkward and bashful Yugyeom blushing at the very mention of Youngjae, and of his painstaking efforts to make that party perfect.  Jaebum thinks of the three of them dancing, all wrapped up in each other and starry-eyed and so beautifully nervous because of how much it _mattered_.  And Jaebum says, “I don’t think it’s true either.  For what it’s worth.”

     “So my parents, they said they’ll...disown me. If I keep not listening to them, and putting the family’s reputation at risk by being so...selfish.  And inconsiderate and naïve,” Youngjae continues, voice breaking a little.  And the words, they’re so, _so_ familiar, that Jaebum’s throat tightens and the breath hitches there.  “I don’t...want to break up with them.  I love them, and I know it’s soon to say that, but _I do_.  But if my parents disown me, I don’t know what I’d do.  I...I don’t know if I could afford to keep going to school.  Or live in the dorms.”

     “I’m sure there are some jobs around campus available.”

     “Yeah.  But I’d have to work full time to handle both tuition and rent, and I couldn’t do that with my course load.”

     And there’s a sheen in Youngjae’s eyes, misting over them ever so slightly, and Jaebum automatically reaches over to place his hand over Youngjae’s.  “Listen, Youngjae-ah.  If that’s what you decide, and if that’s what happens, we’d...we’d help, you know?  However we could.  I’m sure Bammie wouldn’t mind you moving in with him, or you’d be welcome with Jinyoungie and I, if you preferred that.  And the music department has some bursaries and scholarships I could help you apply for, or Jinyoungie could help you with your resume.  He’s good at bureaucratic shit like that.”

     “You -  ” Youngjae has to break off with a sniffle, and it has Jaebum squeezing his hand tighter.  “I wouldn’t want to...impose like that.  It wouldn’t be fair.”

     “It’s not imposing if we’re offering, Youngjae-ah,” Jaebum doesn’t hesitate to say, and, noticing how Youngjae’s nibbled away his pastry, pushes his own towards the younger.  “I know we don’t...know each other too well, yet.  But you’re important to Bammie, which automatically makes you important to us.  If we could help you, we would.  Without question.”

     Youngjae’s eyes slip shut, and Jaebum thinks the sigh he releases speaks to a burden heavier than any kid should have to deal with. “Hyung, I -  ”

     “So being a slut for two men isn’t enough?” Youngjae freezes immediately at the voice from behind him, eyes widening nearly comically as his jaw drops and all colour seems to flood from his face.  “You have to whore yourself out to a _third_?”

     There’s a woman, there, over Youngjae’s shoulder.  Jaebum didn’t see her enter, too absorbed in the kid in front of him whose shoulders are crumpling beneath a weight no one’s should, but the bells atop the door still tingle slightly as she stalks towards them.  She’s fierce-looking, immediately intimidating with her sleek red jacket and red-painted lips, curled in disdain.  She looks...murderous, almost, and Jaebum’s heart drops in his chest as Youngjae surges to his feet and whirls around to stutter, “M...Mama?”

     “Youngjae,” she acknowledges curtly, leveling only a cursory look of utter _disdain_ at Jaebum before turning back to her son.  “I thought I taught you better than this.  Raised you to have more _respect_ than this.”

     Youngjae just gapes at her.

     “But I see that ruining our reputation with your two... _partners_ ,” she says, spitting out the word like it’s sour on her tongue, “wasn’t enough for you.  Are you so keen to make us suffer, Youngjae?”

     “I...Mama...”

     “Your behaviour these past weeks has been frankly disgusting.  We thought that the talk of disowning you would be enough, enough to make you snap out of this _revolting_ behaviour, but it clearly hasn’t been.  Or perhaps it’s that you just don’t care.”

     Jaebum slowly rises to his feet.  His knees wobble, wobble, wobble as he does so, but he draws his back straight to stand firm.  “Mrs. Choi,” he says, dipping into a bow and extending a hand because Youngjae’s just floundering, like a fish out of water, and Jaebum has to do _something_.  “I think you -  ”

     And she slaps his hand away with a snarl, and it burns like a brand.  “Your interruption is not welcome,” she all but growls, eyes cutting and Jaebum’s omega cowers.  “Neither are you.  I think it would be best if you leave.  This doesn’t involve you.”

     But seeing Youngjae’s shoulders collapse in on themselves has Jaebum feeling like leaving is the _last_ thing he should do.  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’ll leave if Youngjae asks me to.”

     But Youngjae doesn’t.  He just turns to Jaebum, eyes wide and lips trembling and expression almost...pleading.

     He doesn’t ask him to leave, so Jaebum doesn’t.

     Youngjae’s mother eyes them both with revulsion.  “You don’t realize it, do you?  These boys, they’re just _using_ you.  They don’t want you,” she seethes.  “They want _sex_.  A pretty little willing omega to experiment with until they realize they need to settle down.  And when they do, they’ll cast you aside, and all your _value_ for any alpha will have disappeared because you’re _used_.  Tainted.”

     And it takes far too much effort for Jaebum to hold back his growl at that.

     Youngjae trembles in front of his eyes, like a leaf caught by a gust of violent wind.  “Mama, please, can we just - ”

     “No,” she cuts him off.  “No more from you.  You’ve done enough.  You aren’t listening, _haven’t been_ listening, and I’m so relieved your father agreed to come down here, so _relieved_ I spotted you through the window as we were driving by to find you, because it means we can finally put an end to this...this...madness.”

     “Mama - ”

     “You’re coming home,” she says.  “Now.  We’ll send for someone to get your things and take care of your withdrawal.  We thought university would be a good opportunity for you, would _benefit_ you, but clearly we were mistaken.  I’m so _disappointed_ in you, Youngjae.”

     And Youngjae just about _wilts_ before Jaebum’s eyes, hand grasping the back of his chair and knuckles turning white.  “Mama, please, I like it here and - ”

     “I don’t _care_ ,” his mother silences him, before she takes a breath and softens her voice in a way that Jaebum thinks she could almost, _almost_ , sound nice.  “Youngjae, please, this is what’s best for you.  If you come home now, we can...save this.  Save _you_.  We’ll get someone to come in and help you get...better.  Alright?"

     “There’s nothing _wrong_ with me, I - ”

     “Nothing wrong with you?” she asks, with an incredulous laugh.  “Youngjae, there is nothing _right_ about what you’re doing.  What you’ve been doing.  You are ruining your _future_ , Youngjae, and taking us down with you.”

     “I’m not,” Youngjae says, softly.  “I’m not, Mama.  They love me, I like being with them, I - ”

     “Oh darling,” she says, almost coos, and the abrupt shift in tone almost gives Jaebum whiplash.  “You’re worse than I thought.  Just...just come with Mama, okay?” she continues, reaching a hand out to grab Youngjae’s arm.  “We’ll get you better, okay, baby?”

     And Youngjae...

     Youngjae pulls his arm from her grasp.

     He pulls his arm away, takes a panicked step back, and the surge of _pride_ leaves Jaebum feeling dizzy.

     But alongside that pride surges worry, because Youngjae’s retreating step has his mother’s eyes flashing _red_ and Jaebum has to hold back his whimper as his omega demands he _run, run, run_.  “Youngjae,” she says, voice low and almost a growl.  “You are coming with me.  Do you forget what we warned you of?  What your option is?”

     Youngjae takes another step back, shaking so violently Jaebum swears he can almost feel it, through the floor.  “I don’t want to,” he murmurs quietly.

     “Your father is waiting outside,” she continues, voice low.  “Get in the car, Youngjae.”

     Youngjae just shakes his head resolutely, and his retreating step has him bumping into Jaebum and shuddering at the contact.

     “Youngjae,” she growls, approaching them both.  “Get in the car.”

     Youngjae just shakes and shakes and shakes, and reaches back to grab onto Jaebum’s arm with a squeeze so tight it has pain shooting up Jaebum’s arm. 

     “You have ten seconds to come with me and get in that car, or so help me, you’re out of this family.”

     The threat is quiet.  So quiet, but so _forceful_ and blunt and Youngjae’s grip on his arm just tightens further.  Jaebum can almost hear Youngjae’s heart breaking beneath his whimper.  “Mother, please,” he pleads.

     “None of that,” she snaps.  “Ten seconds, Youngjae.”

     And Youngjae all but sobs, his breath catching in his throat.  But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t say anything, and every second that passes has the storm in Mrs. Choi’s eyes growing deeper and more ferocious.  And that storm has Jaebum shifting, just a little, so that Youngjae is behind him.

     Protected.

     He’s seen that look before.  That expression, in the eyes.  He’s seen the storm brewing, and anticipated its landfall across his face.  He just hopes Mrs. Choi restrains it, like his father did all those years.

     Jaebum waits.  It’s all he can do.  Waits, staring warily at Mrs. Choi winding tighter and tighter in front of him, and trying to keep his own heart from breaking as Youngjae’s sobs grow louder and louder behind him.

     “Five seconds,” his mother growls.

     And Jaebum keeps expecting Youngjae to step around him.  To go towards his mother.  He would understand, if he did.  Because his mother is frankly terrifying, and Jaebum’s spent most of his life doing the same with his own parents.

     But Youngjae...only shifts.  He only shifts, so his forehead falls against Jaebum’s shoulder blade and his hands fist in the back of Jaebum’s jacket.

     And from there, he doesn’t move.

     More than five seconds pass.  It’s more like a minute, a minute in which Youngjae’s mother waits for her son to make the decision she clearly assumed he would make.  And as that minute passes, there’s a growing incredulity that blooms across her face, and anger and disappointment and _hatred_ , and the familiarity of that expression has Jaebum just...hurting. 

     “You’ll regret this,” she says lowly.  “You’ll rue this day, when you picked _whores_ over your family.”

     “They’re not...they’re not...I love them,” Youngjae whimpers, so low Jaebum wonders whether his mother will even hear him.  “They love me.”

     “They  _love_ that you’re so eager to spread your legs for them,” she seethes.  “And as soon as they tire of that, as soon as they tire of _you_ , you’ll realize what a _mistake_ you just made.”  She stops, to suck in a deep breath, to push down the embarrassed flush on her cheeks and straighten her jaw.  “Our lawyers will be in touch with the paperwork.”

     And she leaves.

     She leaves, storming out with the anger swirling almost visibly around her.  And like any storm, she leaves devastation in her wake.

     Because Youngjae just...crumples.

     He crumples, his knees seemingly giving way beneath him, and Jaebum feels him dropping and is almost too late to catch him.  But he does, and he manages to maneuver him onto the chair and kneel before him on the café floor still wet with melting snow.

     Youngjae clings to him.  Folds over in the chair and clings to his chest, as he cries and cries and cries, gut-wrenching sobs that have tears stinging at the corners of Jaebum’s eyes because _how fucking dare she._

“Youngjae-ah,” Jaebum whispers into his hair as Youngjae’s sobs soak into Jaebum’s shirt, seemingly only growing in intensity when Jaebum raises a hand to pet soothingly at his hair.  “Jae-ah, you’re alright.  You’re safe, hyung’s got you.”

     He keeps crying.  And every tear and gasp for air has the anger building in Jaebum’s stomach.

     But there’s no time.  No time for that.  It’s not his place, either, but he can’t find it in himself to care about that, not when this sunshine of a boy is breaking apart at the words of one of the people who is supposed to love him the most.  So he just keeps...holding him.  Cradling him against his chest, humming in hopes it’ll soothe or distract.

     He finds himself humming the song he wrote, last term for his music production class.  The sad one.  Jaebum hates how fitting it seemingly _always_ is.

     One of the waitresses brings by a stack of napkins, with a sad little smile on her face and a note with a scrawled _Let me know if you need anything_.  And when he glances up, he sees the café empty but for a kid in the corner, headphones in and probably oblivious to everything that just transpired given how intently he’s focusing on his laptop, and the girl with the sad smile and sympathetic eyes.

     He smiles back at her, in thanks.

     “Jae-ah?” he murmurs, running a hand over the shock of blond hair.  “Jae-ah, how about we go home, okay?  Will we go home to Bammie and Yuggie?”

     And the tears don’t stop coming, but Youngjae does nod, slightly, into his chest.

     It takes a bit of effort, to maneuver Youngjae to his feet.  His legs still seem shaky, so Jaebum wraps his arm around his waist.

And with Youngjae tucked firmly against his side, Jaebum uses his free hand to send a text to Bambam.

 

Im Jaebum

_SOS with Youngjae. Be at your apt in 10_

     And the drinks and leftover pastry grow cold on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note of thanks for all your wonderful and heart-warming feedback on the last chapter. Especially on the letter. I can't express in words how much it meant and means to me.
> 
> Also...keep an eye out for the next chapter. It's a big one.
> 
> (Also #2, just a note that any parents/family of GOT7 who appear in this fic ARE NOT modelled after their real parents. They're entirely fictional, with fictional personalities created for this story).


	23. Rebuilding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Sorry for the late update...I've been trying to update every two weeks, at the least, but this one just got away from me. It's a big chapter, so it took a while for me to be happy with it (I'm not, still, but it's the closest I'll get, I think).
> 
> Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

     Getting to Bambam’s apartment proves a bit...complicated.  Youngjae’s like a dead weight, seemingly only moving at all because Jaebum’s moving and he won’t stop clinging to Jaebum’s side like his life depends on it.  He keeps stumbling and shaking, enough that Jaebum stops them at one point on the sidewalk to wrap Youngjae up in his jacket, even though he knows he’s not trembling from the cold.

     Jaebum’s heart feels like it’s splintering.

     He hates this.  He hates Youngjae’s parents.  Hates all parents who are like them, and hates how much he _understands_.  Hates this culture and this societal prejudice and this thinking that omegas are _less, less, less_.  Hates how together, it can, in ten minutes, so effectively replace the kid’s sunshine and brightness with clouds and storms.

     The door to Bambam’s apartment swings open before Jaebum can even raise a hand to knock.

     Bambam stands there, in the doorway, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with worry so potent Jaebum swears he can smell it even through the scent blockers, souring his scent, making the sweetness tangy and the orange blossoms rotten.

     Bambam ushers them in, and Jaebum nearly has to drag Youngjae into the living room.  Yugyeom’s there, immediately reaching for Jaebum’s jacket to slide it from Youngjae’s shoulders, but Youngjae just whimpers, cowering away from the touch and further into Jaebum’s side.

     And Jaebum’s grip on the boy tightens, even as the ache in his chest grows at the devastation that breaks openly across Yugyeom’s face.  He mouths out an apology to Yugyeom as Youngjae buries his face into his neck and scent gland, but Mark’s already there, drawing Yugyeom away to the armchair to give them a bit more space.

     And Bambam...Bambam just looks shell-shocked.  His hands keep twitching, twitching like he _aches_ to touch Youngjae, to ensure he’s alright, and his posture looks more defeated than Jaebum thinks he’s ever seen.

     Yeah.  He hates Youngjae’s parents.

     “Jae-ah,” Jaebum says, quietly.  Youngjae whines a little in acknowledgement, nosing deeper into Jaebum’s neck, taking comfort in the sweet smell of another omega.  “Jae-ah, Bammie wants to see you.  To make sure you’re alright.  Will you go to Bammie?”

     Youngjae just shudders, and whimpers a bit more.

     “You’re alright, Jae-ah,” Jaebum murmurs to him. “It’s alright.  It’s just us here, just us.  And we’ll take care of you.  You’ll be alright.”

     “Youngjae-hyung?”  And Bambam’s voice is small, _so small_ , and his chin wobbles a bit and the hatred in Jaebum just grows exponentially.

     He’ll kill them.  Make them regret doing this to his friends, his... _family._ And Jaebum thinks how funny it is that people assume that alphas are the most dangerous, the most aggressive.  Because those people have never seen an omega whose family is under attack.

     It takes a little more coaxing, to work Youngjae away from Jaebum.  It takes Bambam’s puppy dog eyes and Yugyeom’s pained whines from across the room to pull Youngjae back.  And when he’s back, he shuffles over, into Bambam’s arms where he finally, finally breaks apart.

     Jinyoung approaches then, cautious not to startle an obviously traumatized Youngjae, and stares at Jaebum with such unabashed worry that Jaebum feels like all the emotions of the past minutes are just tumbling down around him all at once, heavy and thick and suffocating in their weight.  “You’re shivering, hyung,” Jinyoung murmurs.  “Let’s get you warmed up, yeah?”  And the moment he says it, there’s a blanket appearing, sweeping in from the corner of Jaebum’s vision, and Jaebum looks and sees...

     Jackson.

     His hair’s brown now, it’s _brown_ with a tint of red and it looks so good, even though it makes his skin seem even paler, the tired bruises beneath his eyes more prominent and his cheeks more hallow.  Jaebum doesn’t know how he missed him. How he missed seeing him, seeing that he was here, but he _is_ here, staring at Jaebum with some unreadable expression on his face and eyes thick with some emotion Jaebum can’t seem to decipher.

     When Jaebum doesn’t move to take the blanket, too busy _looking_ , too busy taking in everything he’s been missing like he’s a man starved, Jackson just unfolds the blanket and lays it around his shoulders.  Gently.  So, so gently.  And Jaebum’s sure, _positive_ , that he doesn’t just imagine the way his hands linger, ever so slightly, on Jaebum’s back, smoothing down invisible folds in the blanket, before pulling away.

     Jaebum swallows.  He doesn’t know what it means, and before he has enough time to ponder it, Jinyoung’s pushing him down to sit on the couch and sliding down beside him.

     “What happened, hyung?”

     And Jaebum looks, eyes drawn to where Bambam has maneuvered Youngjae over to join Yugyeom in the chair.  Youngjae’s crawled into Yugyeom’s lap now, one knee on either side of the alpha’s hips as he just buries his face into the maknae’s neck and sobs, Bambam wrapped around them both.  The sight of it has Jaebum’s throat feeling like it’s closing.

     “I...” he starts, but his voice cracks.  “His mom came.  Saw us, in the café.  It...didn’t go well.”

     “Shit,” swears Mark, as he peers down at Jaebum, hands dug into his pockets.

     Jaebum finds himself staring at the trio again. 

     “She was...she was _horrible_ to him,” Jaebum mutters, eyes fixed on the way Youngjae seems so small, so tiny and fragile, in Yugyeom’s lap.  On the way Bambam’s running long fingers through Youngjae’s hair as his head rests against Yugyeom’s shoulder.  On the way Youngjae’s sobs shake his frame as Yugyeom’s knuckles turn white at how tightly he’s gripping his hyung’s sweater.  “Talking about...about how disappointed she was, and how Bammie and Yugyeom don’t _love_ him, and how he’s just a...just a whore who’ll regret it, later.”

     “Fuck her,” Mark says fiercely.  “She doesn’t know shit about them.”

     “She thinks she does,” Jaebum says, with a shiver because it’s cold, it’s so _cold_.  He pulls the blanket around himself a little tighter.  “They’re...going through with it.  Disowning him.  Sending over a lawyer with the paperwork.”

     “Fucking  _bitch_ \- ”

     “Mark-hyung,” Jinyoung intercedes, a little sharply.  Sharply enough that Jaebum realizes, even through the emotional haze clouding his brain, that things between them have clearly not been righted.  The roll of Mark’s eyes and irritated toss of his head just confirms it.

    And Jaebum should be concerned about it, but he...can’t be.  Primarily because he can’t stop...remembering.  Can’t stop seeing the disappointment and the fury and the shame and having it reopen old wounds, leaving him bleeding from phantom gashes.  Can’t stop imagining his father’s face on Mrs. Choi, imagining his lips curving around the same hateful, spiteful words.

     He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes.  It’s stupid, he tells himself.  Stupid to be this...emotional and upset over it, when it’s Youngjae’s family who just _abandoned_ him and Youngjae’s life that’s now irreparably different.  But the turmoil curls in his stomach, has his throat feeling thick and his eyes wet and hands itching with the need to just...throw something.

     And the couch shifts beside him.  It startles him, for a moment, but then there’s a hand that grips onto his, fingers winding between his own to squeeze.  There’s that hand, and lips that press so fleetingly and softly against his shoulder that Jaebum’s sure he imagines it.  There’s that hand, and those lips, and a head of soft brown hair that falls onto his shoulder.

     Jackson.

     And Jaebum cries.

 

 

 

 

     He cries.  Silent tears that stream down his face, and Jaebum thinks it’s almost...disrespectful, to Youngjae, when his suffering must be so much worse.  So much deeper, more acute, and more cutting.  But as much as he tells himself he has no right to cry, to make this about _him_ , he’s just...so tired.  Of hate, and feeling _shitty_ , and the people who should love you the most not loving you at all.

     So he cries, Jackson’s hand solid in his and head gentle on his shoulder.

     He cries, as Jinyoung sits at his other side, running a hand up and down his back.  Jinyoung gets it.  He understands.  As much as there might be a rift between them lately, a tear in their relationship they’ve yet to mend after Jaebum’s failure to tell him so much, Jinyoung understands.  He knows Jaebum’s parents, about Jaebum’s relationship with them.  He _understands_.

     He cries, as Mark retreats and then comes back with a cup of tea, a spoon of honey in it to soothe the pain growing in his throat.  Jaebum wonders, idly, if he’s stupid for thinking of it as being a bit of a peace offering.  As it being a token of Mark realizing that maybe he didn’t have the whole story, that day, when he showed up at Jaebum’s door with an angry countenance and infuriated words.  Still, it helps centre him, just a bit, enough that he’s able to offer Mark a watery smile of gratitude that has the elder blinking before returning it with a little smile of his own.  Albeit, Mark’s smile is tinged with wariness and caution, as his eyes flicker back to Jackson’s head still heavy on Jaebum’s shoulder.

     Across the room, Youngjae has seemingly settled somewhat.  The sobbing has subsided into sniffles, and Bambam pauses in his soothing rubbing of Youngjae’s back to slowly slide from the chair and approach them on the couch.

     “We’re going to take him to bed,” he says, voice soft and broken and eyes rimmed in red.  His hands are shaking, trembling, so Jaebum reaches out his free hand to grab onto one.  “He’s passed out from crying, so.”

     “Okay, Bammie,” Jinyoung replies, tenderly and gently as he reaches out, too, to soothe a hand down Bambam’s arm.  “We’ll head out, then.  I can be back in a bit with some chicken soup?”

     Bambam just nods, forlornly.  “Thanks, hyung.”  And then he’s pushing aside Jackson’s hand to crawl into Jaebum’s lap.

     “Thank you, Jaebummie-hyung,” Bambam whispers, as he presses his face into Jaebum’s neck.  Jaebum can feel the wetness of tears there, feel the kid shuddering beneath his palms, so he just holds him a little tighter, with a little more love.  They all need a little more love, a little more tenderness, after a day like this.  “Thank you.”

     He’s bony, all long awkward limbs and knees digging into Jaebum’s hips, but Jaebum wouldn’t trade it for the world.

     “Take care of him, alright?  He’ll...he’s gonna need you.”

     Bambam nods against his neck, murmuring an “I promise,” before he draws away.

     Jaebum’s sigh feels like it tears open his chest, as he watches Bambam return to his boyfriends.  Yugyeom has somehow managed to stand, and holds Youngjae tightly against his chest as he continues to softly hum some song Jaebum can’t make out.

     But Yugyeom looks up, briefly, to lock eyes with Jaebum.  To smile, a little watery and lopsided and fractured, before returning to humming. And with Bambam’s help, they disappear down the hall.

     The silence is eerie, then, Jaebum thinks.  Like the moments after a storm, when the worst has passed but there remains so much destruction.  So much devastation.  So much pain to clean up and sift through and recover from.

     “Well,” Jinyoung sighs, rising heavily to his feet. “I guess I’ll go make some soup.”

     “Wait.”

     Jackson’s voice is deep, deep and rough and Jaebum feels like crying, all over again, because a part of him had thought he’d never hear that voice again.

     “Can I...” Jackson pauses, to swallow, and his eyes won’t meet Jaebum’s until they _do_ , and the unease and uncertainty in them has Jaebum’s chest tightening.  “Can we talk?  No, shit, never mind.  Not a good time.  It’s been a rough day and I’m sure you just want to go to bed and - ”

     “Jackson,” Jaebum says, and even saying the name has fresh pain surging inside him like a geyser.  “We can talk.”

 

 

 

 

     They opt for Jaebum’s apartment.  To ensure they don’t disrupt Youngjae’s much-needed rest. To get some privacy, unimpeded by the shadow of Mark’s frown and Jinyoung’s hesitant worry.

     “I’ll be fine,” Jaebum had told Jinyoung as he had risen to his feet from the couch, a bit unsteadily.  “Don’t worry, Jinyoungie.”

     Jinyoung had looked unconvinced.

     Now, as Jaebum stands in his living room with Jackson, so close yet seeming so far, the few feet between them feeling like miles, Jaebum feels a little unconvinced too.

     It takes a few moments, for Jackson to find his voice.  To find his words.  He shifts from foot to foot as he ponders and thinks, face drawn and lips frowning and just looking...exhausted.  And Jaebum hates himself, for contributing to that exhaustion.

     “Is that what you had imagined?” Jackson finally asks, voice quiet but high, in that way Jaebum knows it gets when he’s nervous.  “From your parents, if you’d decided to be with me, as an omega?”

     Jaebum watches him stuff his hands into his pockets, before sighing and withdrawing them to wring them by his stomach.

     Jaebum doesn’t feel like talking about this.  _God_ , he doesn’t feel like talking about this, not when his emotions are already running rampant and his sanity feels like it’s teetering on the edge.  Not when all he wants to do is crawl into bed, maybe nest a little, and bury his face in Nora’s fur and just sleep away the headache growing across his forehead.

     But it’s Jackson.  Jackson, who wants to talk.  And Jaebum can’t deny Jackson anything.

     “Somewhat,” is what Jaebum tells him, truthfully, after the few moments it takes him to find his _voice_ beneath all the pain and discomfort and hurt.  He owes him that much, after all the days of lying to _himself._ “I didn’t think they’d disown me because, well, only child.  They’d rather have a disappointing omega son than no lineage at all.”  Jackson’s eyes drop, his brow furrowing contemplatively as his mouth tips into a frown, but Jaebum continues.  “But the...spectacle would’ve been the same.  The disappointment, the shaming, the hatred, the threats, probably.”

     Jackson doesn’t say anything.  Just continues to stand there, worrying his lip with his teeth and staring at the ground like it has all the answers.

     Jaebum wishes it did.  Wishes _something_ did, for how to make this better.

     “I’m sorry.”

     Jaebum blinks, because for all the words he could anticipate coming from Jackson’s lips, an apology hadn’t been included in any of them.

     “It’s...fine,” Jaebum tells him, feeling a bit confused. “Well, it’s not, but I’m used to it. I’ve been a disappointment since I was 16 and woke up in my own slick, so I’ve grown...accustomed to the feeling.”

     “No, I - ” Jackson pauses to inhale, a long shuddering sound that Jaebum _feels_ himself, in his own chest.  “I read your letter.  This morning, because I couldn’t...I couldn’t seem to open it.  It just sat, on my desk, and I’d keep staring at it, but I couldn’t find the courage to open it.”

     “That’s alright, Jackson.”

     Jackson just shakes his head.  “And even before that, before I opened it and...read it, I’d...I’d been thinking, a lot.  About...us. About what happened, that...that day. And I realized that I never really listened to you.  Heard you out.”

     “It’s fine - ”

     “No.  No,” Jackson repeats, resolutely, and when he looks at Jaebum there are apologies written across his eyes across the underlying sorrow.  “I was...hurt.  Confused.  Angry.  And so I didn’t listen, when I should’ve.  I should’ve listened to you, hyung, and tried to understand. You deserved that much.”

     “I didn’t.  Not after what I did to you.  How I made you feel.”

     “Hyung,” Jackson says, sharply and a bit forcefully and Jaebum’s heart seems to stop in his chest.  “I don’t ever want to hear you say that you don’t...deserve something.  It’s not true.  Please, I just...please don’t say that, okay?”

     _But I don’t_ , Jaebum wants to say.  _I don’t, after what I did to you._ And since he can’t say that, and doesn’t want to _lie_ anymore, he doesn’t say anything.

     Jackson just sighs.  “We’ll...work on that, okay?  We’ll work on that.”

     Jaebum doesn’t quite know what he means by that, but he nods anyway.

     “Your letter...” Jackson starts, but his voice breaks and he has to take a moment to compose himself.  And it feels like the longest moment of Jaebum’s life, because he wants so _desperately_ to just reach out and comfort him but knows, realizes, that he doesn’t have that privilege anymore.  “Your letter broke my heart, hyung.”

     And regret and shame flood through Jaebum, because he’d just wanted to _explain_ , not make things worse.  Why does he _always_ make things worse?  “I’m sorry,” he stammers out. “I’m sorry, Jackson, I - ”

     “Sseun-ah,” Jackson intercedes, voice sounding like it’s verging on desperate.  “Please, I...I like it when you call me Sseun-ah.”

     “Okay,” Jaebum murmurs, a bit stunned, a bit dizzy and disoriented, like the world’s moving around him faster than usual. “Sseun-ah.”

     “It didn’t…it didn’t hurt me, that you thought I was an omega,” Jackson explains, quietly.  “I get it…I’m sensitive and touchy and don’t really care about being aggressive, or dominant, or physically imposing.  It hurt me because I...I thought I understood.  What you went through.  Are going through.  Because I’m a disappointment to my parents too, with fencing.  I thought it was the same.  I thought...if I’d be willing to disappoint them to do what makes me happy, why won’t he do the same?  Why am I not worth him doing the same?”  Jackson pauses, to inhale quickly, and it seems to rattle in his rib cage.  “But it’s not the same.  It’s not the same at all, is it, hyung?”

     Jaebum...doesn’t know what to say.  His tongue feels like lead in his mouth and his brain keeps whirring, whirring, whirring, trying to keep up.

     “I always knew, that even if I disappointed my parents and didn’t pursue fencing, they’d still...love me.  Fundamentally, they’d still love me.  I didn’t understand that you...you didn’t...that your parents don’t - ”

     “It’s okay, Sseun-ah,” Jaebum says, although he realizes, belatedly, that the way his throat feels tight has it sounding more like a gasp.  “It’s okay.”

     “Is it bad of me to say that I hate your parents, hyung?” Jackson asks, looking so...so _small_ and vulnerable, almost.  “Even if it is, I think I do.  I hate them for making you feel like you shouldn’t be happy, or shouldn’t have love, or that you have no choices.  I hate them for making you feel like you’re not enough, hyung.”

     “It’s not bad, Sseun-ah,” Jaebum assures him, quietly.  “Sometimes I think I hate them too.”

     “You should, hyung,” Jackson says, chin trembling and eyes looking wet like he wants to _cry._ “You should hate them. You...you keep saying you don’t deserve things, but hyung, they don’t deserve you.  You’re...you’re _perfect_.”

     And how stupid it was of Jaebum, to think he’d been done crying.

     But as soon as the first tear spills over, Jackson’s there.  Jackson’s there, pulling Jaebum into his chest and directing his nose into his neck.  Jackson’s hand tangles in Jaebum’s hair while his other spreads itself, hot, across Jaebum’s back.  And Jaebum...just lets himself breathe.  Be held.  Be...

    Loved?

     It’s a little like they’re dancing, with how Jackson starts swaying them back and forth.  He sways them back and forth, and he hums, low and rough and yet so, so soothing, like balm over Jaebum’s frayed nerves, over the years and years of hurt that’s left him charred and burnt.

     Eventually Jackson pulls back, to bring both hands to Jaebum’s face and rub away the tears with his thumbs.  And Jaebum doesn’t want to _hope_ , because hope has never gotten him anywhere, but God, it’s so hard not to when Jackson’s hands are warm on his face, thumbs sweeping across his cheeks so tenderly.

     “I get why you did it, hyung.  Why you rejected me.  Why you felt the need to.  I know you felt like you didn’t have a choice.  And I know that I’ll never understand, hyung,” Jackson whispers into the inches between them, as his eyes bore into Jaebum’s so intensely Jaebum’s heart feels like it just sputters to a halt in his chest.  “I can’t ever know what it’s like, to be an omega.  To be _you_ , and deal with what you have to deal with.  But I can promise I’ll try.  I’ll listen and I’ll be in your corner, hyung, whether you want me there or not.”

     “I’m sorry too, Sseun-ah,” Jaebum murmurs shakily. “For...everything.  For everything I did say, and everything I didn’t.  For making you feel like me...like you weren’t enough.  I shouldn’t have assumed you were an omega.  I shouldn’t have rejected you without being more open with you.  I shouldn’t have pulled away when I thought we were getting too close, and I shouldn’t have been so careless and implied that I only wanted you because you were an alpha when I just wanted...you.”  I just wanted you, Jaebum thinks, as the words tremble in his throat.  “I should’ve explained more, or explained _better_ , and - ”

     “It’s okay, hyung,” Jackson soothes, dropping his hands to settle at Jaebum’s waist, and Jaebum can feel the _heat_ of them through his jeans and it leaves him shuddering. “It’s not your fault.”  And then he snorts a little, at the unamused eyebrow raise that earns from Jaebum.  “Well, not _entirely_ your fault.”

     “Jinyoung’s always told me I’m emotionally constipated.  And that I express myself and communicate with the aptness of a particularly dull rock.”

     “Well,” Jackson hums.  “He may not be _entirely_ wrong.  But Mark’s always told me I communicate enough for three people, so.”

     “Really?  I never noticed.”

     And Jackson smiles.  He _smiles_.  Angled but wide and disarming and so, so stunning and Jaebum feels...at peace.

     It’s like everything inside him just...settles. The war quiets down, the clashing tide retreats, the storm dies out.  It’s just him and Jackson.  Him and Jackson and whatever...whatever this is, whatever this new normal is, that’s settling between them now.

     Jackson’s face is approaching, growing closer, and Jaebum’s heart stills and breath catches in anticipation.  But then Jackson’s forehead just leans against his own.  “I still like you, Jaebummie-hyung,” he whispers.

     And Jaebum just...smiles.  “I still like you too, Sseun-ah.”

     “Enough to go out with me this weekend?  See if what we both thought was there still is, minus all the miscommunications and misunderstandings?”

     And Jaebum’s so happy, he’s _so happy_ , he swears his heart swells in his chest like a balloon that’ll just carry him off into the sky.  “Like...like a date?”

     “A date,” Jackson confirms, and yep, there go Jaebum’s feet, floating a few inches off the ground.  “If you’ll have me.”

     _As if I’d want anything or anyone else_ , Jaebum thinks.  _As if I_ could _want anyone else, when you’re you, and you’re here._

     And for the first time, in a long time, Jaebum can say it.  He can say what he thinks, what he wants.  So he says, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

     And Jaebum thinks that the flush that blooms across Jackson’s cheeks like spring roses may be one of his favourite sights ever.

     He could spend hours looking at it.  Days, weeks, months, years, if Jackson would let him, and -

     There’s a knock on the door, a quick rat-a-tat.

     “I should get that,” Jaebum murmurs.

     “Do you have to?”

     Jaebum laughs.  “Yeah.  In case it’s Bammie, needing something.”

     And the little smile that had formed on Jackson’s lips soon fades into a worried little pout that has Jaebum not even bothering to resist the urge to coo.  “Right,” Jackson says, and pushes him a bit towards the door.

     And it’s not just Bambam, but Yugyeom too, the giant maknae of their little group hovering over Bambam’s shoulder.

     “Am I interrupting something?” Bambam asks, eyes red-rimmed and tired but voice light.  It’s light, in a way Jaebum knows is forced, because Bambam’s like that, to give off the appearance of calm and control even while others break apart around him, to be the pillar even when he’s crumbling himself.  “Please tell me I’m interrupting something.”

     Jaebum just grins at him, a little.  It feels foreign on his face, like it’s still not sure it belongs there, but it feels... _good._ What feels even better is how Jackson comes up behind him, weaving his arms around Jaebum’s waist and propping his chin on his shoulder.  “What’s up, Bam?” Jackson asks, and his voice sends vibrations down Jaebum’s back and...oh.  Jaebum shivers a little.  “How is he?”

     “He, uh, actually wanted to talk to you, Jaebum-hyung.  If that’s cool?  He woke up and heard you guys had left and kinda...freaked out a little.”

     “What?” Jaebum asks as the concern wells.  “What’s wrong?”

     “He just wants to talk to you.”

     “Oh.  Okay, sure.”

     And then Bam’s stepping aside slightly, to reveal a sleepy looking Youngjae tucked under Yugyeom’s arm, hair mussed and cheeks stained red with tears and eyes still puffy from crying.  “Hyung?” he whimpers.

     Something like protectiveness surges in Jaebum’s stomach. “Hey, Jae-ah.”

     And Youngjae just...jumps on him.  He surges forward, throwing his arms around Jaebum’s neck and burying his face into his shoulder and sending Jaebum stumbling back a bit.

     But Jackson’s hand is there, at his lower back, steadying him.

     Jackson’s there.

     And knowing it has Jaebum smiling a bit even as Youngjae whimpers a little into his shoulder.

     “Thank you, hyung,” Youngjae says into his shoulder, voice wet and ragged.  “For being there.”

     “Anytime, Jae-ah,” Jaebum murmurs into his ear, as he rubs his hands up and down the boy’s back.  “I wish I could’ve...done more.”

     And Youngjae just shakes his head violently. “You were there.  That...that was enough.  If you weren’t, and she was, I might’ve...I would’ve...”

     Jaebum knows.  He understands.  Because he’s spent most of his life acquiescing to his own parents in the same way. “But you didn’t, Jae-ah,” Jaebum reminds him.  “And hyung is so proud of you for it.”

     Youngjae trembles like a leaf at that.

     Jaebum plants a quick kiss on Youngjae’s hair as the younger pulls away, drawing a sleeved hand across the dampness on his cheeks. “Go sleep, Jae-ah.  Everything feels better after a good sleep.”

     Youngjae just nods, raising his sleeved hand to timidly wave at Jaebum before Bambam wraps a cautious arm around his shoulders and leads him back into his apartment.  Jaebum just about...melts.

     Yugyeom still stands there, looking huge but so, so lost.  And Jaebum’s never been particularly close with the kid, but he can’t help himself.  He opens his arms.

     Yugyeom surges into them and again, for the second time in what Jaebum knows will be an endless list, he’s so, so grateful for Jackson and his steadying hand on the small of Jaebum’s back.  It’s awkward, a little, with how Yugyeom seems to curl into Jaebum and tries to shrink himself to fit into Jaebum’s hold, but it’s also...

     Nice.

     “Thanks, hyung,” Yugyeom mutters as his forehead hits the juncture of Jaebum’s neck.  “I’m...I’m glad you were with him.  That he has you, now.”

     “You better take care of him, alright?” Jaebum instructs.  “Both of them, but Jae-ah especially, in these next days, and weeks, and months.  He’ll need you, now more than ever.  Okay?”

     “Promise, hyung.”

     “But you make sure you take care of yourself too.  So if you need anything, or you feel everything’s too much, just come over, alright?  Or...or text me.  Bammie can give you my number, if you don’t have it.  So you use it, okay?”

     Yugyeom whines a little, and it strikes Jaebum, in an instant, how young the kid is.  How Jaebum forgets that, sometimes, when he’s an alpha and Bambam is...Bambam, always drawing attention and acting like a toddler to make them all laugh.  How the world has forced Yugyeom to grow up so fast, and how worried it makes Jaebum, that he’ll crumble and crack under the stress and pressure.  So when Yugyeom goes to draw away with a murmured thanks, Jaebum is sure to smile at him and ruffle his hair.

     Yugyeom flushes a bit, and yeah, Jaebum thinks, he’s a good kid.

     “Jinyoungie was talking about making some chicken soup for you guys.  Make sure you three eat something, okay?”

     Yugyeom nods, eyes serious and solemn as they peer down at Jaebum, and Jaebum feels a wave of affection hit and spill over into his chest.

     “Thanks, hyung,” Yugyeom murmurs.  “I...thanks.”

     And as Jackson coos over his shoulder about what a cute maknae Yugyeom is, Jaebum just smiles at him and pats his arm.

     “I feel like I should get you a mug,” Jackson says, as Yugyeom leaves and the door closes.  “World’s Best Dad, or something.”

     “Only if you piss Jinyoungie off by getting him one that says World’s Best Mom.”

     Jackson just cackles.  “Ooh I should.  It’d give Mark-hyung the opportunity for more angry sex.”

     That makes Jaebum still as the guilt takes hold and the thought roots that he’s responsible for that tension, that frustration, that rift, and, especially, for Jinyoung’s unhappiness.  That, Jaebum thinks, is what hurts the most.  “I thought they’d have made up by now.”

     Jackson hums.  “Well, I still hear them fucking at least once every few days.  Mark-hyung had to order a new bedframe a couple days ago, and I’m pretty sure I walked in on him trying to glue one of the table’s legs back on,” Jackson pauses, looking contemplative even though the smirk ticks at the corner of his lips.  “So at this rate, they should have whatever it is fucked out of their systems soon.”

     Jaebum can’t help but laugh a little.  And hope a little more.

     “Besides,” Jackson continues, voice sobering.  “I’m more worried about those three,” he says, nodding a head across the hall.

     “Yeah,” Jaebum sighs.  “Me too.”

     “But they have their Mom and Dad,” Jackson says, drilling a finger into Jaebum’s chest with a smirk.

     “And their two uncles.  One loud and crazy and the other slightly violent,” Jaebum replies with a grin.

     “Ah, true.  Such complicated family dynamics.”

     Jaebum smiles at him, until the smile feels too heavy on his lips.  “I’m glad you and Mark-hyung were there.  I was surprised to see you both, but...I’m glad you were there.  I’m sure they are too.”

     “Well, I can’t take much credit,” Jackson admits.  “I was already on my way over to...see you.  But I’m decently sure Mark-hyung and Jinyoungie were going at it in your apartment when they got Bammie’s text, so they might deserve _more_ credit.”

     Jaebum just groans, making Jackson laugh.

     “I should go,” Jackson says, with a rueful little smile on his face like he’d rather do anything but.  Jaebum sympathizes with that feeling.  “Let you get some rest.”

     “You too, Jackson-ah,” Jaebum says, before amending the name to “Sseun-ah.”  Jaebum thinks he won’t ever get over how beautiful Jackson is, as his smile breaks across his face, clearing the clouds and warming the tired eyes.

     “So then I’ll, uh...see you Saturday?”

     And Jackson looks bashful, eyes wide and hopeful like Jaebum’s answer would ever be anything other than a resounding yes.  “Saturday.  I’m...looking forward to it.”

     And that smile just grows, it grows and Jaebum feels...completely at peace.  For the first time maybe...ever.  “Me too, hyung,” Jackson replies.  “Me too.”

     And then Jackson’s leaning in, to brush his lips across Jaebum’s forehead.

     It’s brief.  Gentle.  And Jaebum feels like he’s waited forever to feel like this.  But he feels it now.

     Happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert gif here of OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING! EVERYBODY STAY CALM!
> 
> I hope it lived up to your hopes and dreams. ❤️
> 
> (As always, I'm sorry if there are any typos. I proofread it several times, but probably missed some things. If you see anything, feel free to let me know!)


	24. Discovering

     Jaebum’s been nervous before.  Anxious, before.

     Well, he thought he had.

     Turns out what he’d _thought_ was nervousness just pales absolutely in comparison to...this.

     It’s only a couple of days until his date with Jackson - holy _fuck -_ and those days aren’t long, not in the grand scheme of things, not when it’s taken him _so long_ to get here, to this point, but God do they feel like the longest days of Jaebum’s entire life.  Which is also somewhat ironic, because overlying that excitement of _Jackson, Jackson, Jackson_ is a huge layer of just sheer nervousness.  He can’t focus, on _anything_ , and spends more time sitting in his room like an absolute  _idiot_ just grinning at random objects than he does doing what he _should_ be doing.  Like school work, for instance.  Particularly, like this final assignment for his production program - the one he _has_ to pass if he wants to graduate - in which he has to compose, write, and produce a song, complete with vocals.  But he doesn’t do that, and barely sleeps, either, too busy thinking about _Jackson, Jackson, Jackson._   And of course, when he _does_ sleep, he dreams of the date ending with them in bed together with some very, very R-rated scenes that leave him waking up gasping before he can even get to the good stuff.  Or he dreams of the date ending with tears (and not the good kind either) and pleading (again...not the good kind) and sour words and vows to never, ever see each other again.

     So yeah.  Fun times.

     He just...doesn’t want to mess this up.  Because it’s...Jackson, and Jaebum knows now, can _admit_ to himself now, that he’s so, so far gone for him.  Which is problematic, because if Jaebum’s discovered anything about himself over these past months, it’s that he has a pretty incredible talent for fucking everything up.

     It doesn’t help that the one person who could arguably talk Jaebum down from the proverbial ledge is the one person with whom Jaebum’s relationship is still...rocky.  A bit tumultuous.  Jinyoung still isn’t really talking to him.  Jaebum’s tried.  He’s greeted him.  Made him breakfast.  Knocked on his door when he knows Jinyoung isn’t asleep, but is only pretending to be.  Sat next to him on the couch.  Even texted him.  But every attempt, every effort, has Jinyoung mumbling about needing to go to some meeting, needing to mark some papers, or just simply not responding.  It’s a small apartment, that the two of them share, but Jinyoung keeps finding places to hide in it.

     And every night that Jinyoung’s door closes, that Jaebum’s little knocks go unanswered, just has a hole digging itself deeper into Jaebum’s chest.

     He misses his best friend.  So, so much.

     Jaebum debates writing him a letter.  It seemingly worked with Jackson - again, _holy fuck_ \- but he knows Jinyoung.  He knows Jinyoung would just stare at it with those judgmentally narrowed eyes he usually reserves for when he wants to make Bambam’s life a living hell for his own amusement.  He knows Jinyoung would just take the letter and either crinkle it up and throw it back at him, or set it on fire and dramatically watch it burn, like he’s a jilted lover in some Korean drama.

     He knows he has to talk to him.  Corner him and _talk to him_.  Even if it means tying him down, although honestly Jaebum would much rather leave _that_ to Mark.  (Primarily so he doesn’t have to think about the length of rope and blindfold he accidentally spotted on Jinyoung’s bed the other day.  And primarily so he doesn’t have to think about that _thing_ beside it that looked suspiciously like a ballgag).

     But Jinyoung’s smart.  He’s far more likely to be maneuvering than maneuvered, to be cornering than cornered.  He’s slippery, and frankly somewhat evil, so Jaebum knows he needs more than a sheepishly apologetic smile and stammered “Jinyoungie” to trap him into talking.

     It might require some help, but he’ll figure it out.

     He has to.  It’s Jinyoung, and Jaebum doesn’t think he can exist much longer with this distance between them.

     So until then, he relies on Bambam.  He doesn’t want to, necessarily, because Youngjae’s heart is still broken and both his boyfriends are frankly exhausting themselves in their efforts to patch it together.  He doesn’t want to, because having to rely on Bambam means adding yet another problem, another concern and thing to worry about, to Bambam’s plate, which is already too full and, Jaebum suspects, on the verge of shattering.  But Bambam doesn’t seem to mind.  He comes over, when Youngjae leaves for class, with the same grin, pulls Jaebum in for the same tight hugs, makes the same irritating jokes and annoying comments about Jaebum’s angry chin.

     Maybe the grins are a little more fractured, the hugs a little tighter, the jokes a little more forced than they used to be.  But Bambam won’t mention anything, won’t complain about anything.  He looks tired, progressively more tired with each passing day, in a way that has concern and protectiveness swelling in Jaebum’s throat.  But as much as Jaebum would like to take a page from Jinyoung’s book and just pester Bambam relentlessly until he caves and lays his worries bare, Jaebum just has to trust that Bambam’s an adult, that Yugyeom and Youngjae are both adults, and that they’ll seek help if they need to.

     He hopes that things will calm, will settle, to the point they won’t need to.  But Jaebum’s there, if they do, and reminds Bambam of that every time he sees him.

     So now, Jaebum spares a glance at Bambam, watching as the boy sits on his kitchen counter like a _barbarian_ and shoves yet _another_ mini cupcake into his mouth.  It’d be impressive, that this is his fourth one in the span of about ten minutes, if it wasn’t _so_   _irritating_ when the kid could eat a dozen in a sitting and still not put on a single pound.

     “You know, hyung,” Bambam says, as he licks his fingers clean of the remnants of purple icing.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous.”

     Jaebum narrows his eyes as Bambam stares at another cupcake with something that can only be described as longing.  “Probably because I’ve never _been_ this nervous.”

     “Aww,” Bambam coos.  He flings a hand down onto the counter, and it doesn’t escape Jaebum how the motion has his hand nudging the package of cupcakes.  “You’re so cute.”

     “I’m not cute,” Jaebum mutters, on reflex. “I’m sexy.”  And as Bambam’s fingers move to slide into the cupcake package again, Jaebum swats them away.  “Would you _stop_?  Are your boyfriends not feeding you enough over there?”

     “Well, I always swallow, hyung, so I’d say they’re feeding me plenty,” Bambam says, leaving Jaebum grimacing and contemplating if there’s enough bleach in their closet to get _that_ mental image of his mind.  “One more?  Please?  Pretty please?”

     “I’m going to be broke, if you keep eating all my food like this.”  But Bambam just looks at him, eyes all wide and pleading and hands clasped in front of him looking like Oliver begging for just one bite more.  Jaebum can only sigh and push the package towards him. “One.  That’s it.  Then you’re cut off.  And if you end up with early-onset diabetes, you can’t blame me.”

     “Deal,” Bambam says, and greedily clicks open the plastic package.

     One turns into two, of course.  Because _look at that, hyung!  There’s an odd number left.  You can’t have that, you know?  It’ll get lonely!_

     Jaebum rolls his eyes and scoffs at that excuse.  Unfortunately, it still works, because Jaebum’s apparently just a superb idiot, and Bambam prances over into his apartment looking like the cat who just ate the canary (a.k.a. _half of Jaebum’s package of mini-cupcakes_ ).  Jaebum trails after him, trying (and failing) not to pout at the loss.

     “So what’re you going for tonight, hyung?  Adorable?  Fuckable?  What’s the desired vibe?”

     “ _Language_ , Bammie, good Jesus.”

     “Fine,” Bambam sighs, rolling his eyes.  “ _Sexy_.  Do you want to look _sexy_ tonight, hyung?”

     It’s a good thing, Jaebum thinks, that Bambam’s walking in front of him, because he’s sure he’d be teased relentlessly for the confused expression he’s sure is on his face.  “I don’t know.  Is the first date too early to be looking...sexy?”

     “Oh, hyung,” Bambam sighs.  “Oh, my dearest hyung.  You have so much to learn.  Primary of which is that it is _never_ too early to look sexy.  Now come along,” he continues, grabbing hold of Jaebum’s hand and dragging him into his bedroom.  “Let me take you to where the magic happens.  By which I don’t mean my sex life - although it’s 100% accurate there too.”

     Yep.  Jaebum’s going to have to enter a reminder on his phone to buy some more bleach because what’s in the closet will _definitely_ not be enough.

     Bambam’s comment has him expecting something like a BDSM dungeon when Bambam swings the door open to his room.  He’s saved from the inevitable heart attack, though, because it looks fairly normal.  A little dusty, a little messy, with clothes strewn over the partially made bed and over his desk, but decidedly...PG-13.  So as long as he stays away from beneath Bambam’s bed, and probably in his closet, Jaebum thinks - _thinks_ \- he should be fine.

     Hopefully.

     “I took the liberty of pulling out a few options for you earlier,” Bambam says, gesturing to the clothes on the bed.  “I thought dark and sexy, but we can change that, if you want.”

     “I...” Jaebum pauses to wince.  “Whatever you think?”

     “I  _always_ think dark and sexy,” Bambam hums.  “But it also depends on what you’re doing tonight.”

     Jaebum swallows, eyes tracking between the options laid out and...is that a leather harness?  Oh dear _god_ , that looks like a leather harness.  “I...don’t know.  He won’t tell me.”

     Which, of course, has Bambam wriggling his eyebrows erratically and making some noise like he’s purring, until Jaebum punches his shoulder.

     Bambam has the decency to wince, at least, before he’s moving to his closet again.  “Did he give you any clues, at least?”

     “No,” Jaebum grumbles.  “Just to dress comfortably and bring some mittens.”

     “Damn, okay.  That’s definitely not the aesthetic I was going for.  One second.”

     One second turns into about ten minutes, of Bambam muttering things under his breath as his hands nimbly flick through shirt after shirt, pulling out some options and replacing others until he turns on Jaebum with two in hand.  “Try this?”

     And as Jaebum changes into the white long-sleeve shirt, and slides his arms into the black dress shirt Bambam holds out for him with the little white stripes, Jaebum could almost hate the kid for being so irritatingly...right.

     “Thoughts, hyung?” Bambam asks, moving around Jaebum to start buttoning up the dress shirt. “It’s a little less...flair, than I was hoping for, but it’s hard without knowing the itinerary. Jackson-hyung didn’t leave us much choice.”

     “It’s fine, Bammie.”

     Bambam moves over to grab a silver chain necklace from atop his dresser.  “The shirt’s Yugyeomie’s, so it’ll be bigger.  It’s unstructured enough, too, to give you some ease of movement, even if the idiot decides to take you, like, skating or some shit.  Or you can stay in the white shirt and change into this when you go out for dinner.  It’s all about the options, hyung,” Bambam concludes, clipping the necklace around Jaebum’s neck.  “So I’d say just put on your tightest pair of black jeans, some silver and black earrings, and let me put some eye makeup on you, and you’re good to go.”

     Jaebum sucks in a breath, hearing it shudder in his throat, before he nods.  “Okay.”

 

 

 

 

     “Okay” might have been a poor choice of words, because when there’s a knock on Jaebum’s door at ten minutes to five, he just about jumps out of his skin.

     He also just about trips in the midst of his frantic and entirely uncool scurrying to the door.  Well, it might be more appropriate to say he _does_ absolutely trip, just barely avoiding making a Grade-A faceplant on his floor, but only Nora sees it.  And Nora knows that only Jaebum - and definitely _not_ Jinyoung - will give her those tuna treats she likes, that make her breath smell so horribly and have Jinyoung complaining for hours about why it smells like rotting fish in their entire apartment.  So Jaebum thinks he should be safe.

     Jackson’s there, when he opens the door.  Looking stunning, in his navy blue wool jacket and checkered green scarf and combat boots.  So stunning that Jaebum’s heart does something really weird in his chest and he feels about one second from having to physically scrape his jaw off the floor.

     “Hey, Sseun-ah,” he manages around the butterflies trying to fly up his throat.

     “Jaebummie-hyung!” Jackson exclaims, smile so bright and wide that Jaebum feels like he’s melting, just turning into a puddle of goo at Jackson’s feet.

     Honestly...Jaebum can imagine worse ways to go.

     “You look...incredible, honestly.”

     Jaebum’s pretty sure it’s anatomically impossible for his heart to be in his throat, but that’s where it sure feels like it is. “Thanks,” he manages to stutter out, even as he feels the heat rising in his cheeks.  “You...too.  You look great too.”

     Jackson’s lips quirk a little smugly, before he schools the smirk into a little grin.  “You all ready to go?” Jackson asks.

     Jaebum hums, backtracking quickly to stuff his mittens in his pocket and draw a scarf from the stand beside the door.  “Just about,” he confirms, and goes to wind it around his neck until a pair of slightly cold hands wrap around his wrists.

     “Let me?” Jackson asks, smile turning a little bashful.

     Jaebum can only nod, tongue tied up in knots.

     And any other thought just oozes from his brain and out his ears when Jackson steps forward, into Jaebum’s _space_ , and loops the scarf around his neck.

     The smacking kiss he plants on Jaebum’s cheek doesn’t help either.

     “Got some mittens, hyung?  You won’t need them now, but later, maybe.”

     Jaebum still can’t remember how to translate the mess of thoughts and emotions in his brain into words on his tongue, so he just pats his coat pocket with a smile he hopes isn’t as dumb as it feels.

     “Great!  Let’s go.”

     A car is parked outside, which Jackson confirms is Mark’s with a smile that seems a little embarrassed.  But Jaebum doesn’t mind, can’t mind, when he finds it warm inside with the seat heater turned on, just for him.

     Jaebum doesn’t know how he’s going to survive this date, if his heart keeps going all warm and mushy like this every time Jackson does something remotely sweet or nice.

     “So,” Jackson starts, pulling the car onto the street and Jaebum has to bite the inside of his cheek because Jackson looks _hot_ in a way that makes Jaebum feel like pouting because _it’s just too fucking much_ , “is it okay with you if we go super cliché today?”

     Jaebum tries to hum.  He really does, but it comes out sounding more like a moan and has a mortified flush heating up his neck.  “Uh...sure?” he tries.

     Fortunately, Jackson doesn’t notice.  Or at least, he’s too sweet to make it obvious that he notices, which Jaebum figures is probably the case.  “I’m a firm believer that every blossoming relationship is built from the foundation of one just super-sappy, cliché date.  Like something you’d see from the movies.  And then the realistic crap can come after that.”

     Jaebum laughs.  Something eases in his stomach, some of those knots untangling, and Jaebum remembers....it’s Jackson.  It’s Jackson, who’s warm and comfortable and accepting and probably too gentle for his own good.  So the knots untangle a bit more.  “Okay.”

     “So I was thinking...what are the ideal cliché winter dates?  The things that the two romantic leads in a movie do when they’re just flirting with each other?  And of course, first thing that comes to mind...ice skating.”  Jaebum nearly laughs.  It’s Herculean, really, how much effort it takes him to _not_ laugh.  “But then I remembered I suck at it, and I kind of want to use today to impress you.”

     “Impress me, huh?”

     “Yeah,” Jackson sighs, melodramatically.  “A tough task, I know.  So that was off the board.  And then I thought...tobogganing.”

     “...Tobogganing?”

     “Yeah!” Jackson confirms.  “Is that...okay?”

     There’s an excited little grin on his face, shining through the hesitance in his voice, that has Jaebum’s heart doing somersaults in his chest.  Jackson’s fingers keep tapping erratically on the wheel, like he’s _nervous_ , like he’s as nervous as Jaebum, and that has something in Jaebum settling more.

     So Jaebum reaches out a hand to lay it - somewhat brazenly, he’ll admit, so Bambam would be proud - on Jackson’s thigh.  It twitches beneath his palm, and Jaebum’s sure he doesn’t imagine Jackson’s sharp inhale or the way his fingers seem to tighten on the wheel.  But when Jaebum says that tobogganing sounds perfect, there’s such joy and warmth in Jackson’s eyes that Jaebum can’t help but grin back.

     Jaebum could tell Jackson that he’s already impressed him.  He could, but he doesn’t.  Not when Jaebum is kind of looking forward to seeing Jackson try.

 

 

 

 

     Jackson takes him to a little café by the ski hills first, and insists on buying him a hot chocolate with whipped cream on top.  Whipped cream that, of course, Jaebum manages to smear across his upper lip with the first sip.

     Jackson points it out, and the mortification is just rising in Jaebum’s chest when Jackson totally unabashedly - _how does he_ do _that_ \- reaches out to rub it away with his thumb.  Which of course leaves Jaebum stuck between wanting to nip at the thumb as it draws away, and wanting the ground to just open up beneath him and swallow him whole.

     They share a cookie though, a double chocolate one.  Jackson insists on giving Jaebum about two-thirds of it, and even though Jaebum protests, Jackson whips out those puppy-dog eyes.  Which Jaebum realizes are going to be incredibly problematic because they just sap all the resistance out of Jaebum in about .27 seconds.

     Fortunately, there are snowpants for rental at the ski hill, and they both buckle into them before trudging to the top of the hill, trailing their rented toboggans behind them.  Jackson won’t stop laughing at how Jaebum’s is pink, even though Jaebum keeps reminding him that _it was the last one left, Sseun-ah, shut up_.  But Jaebum can’t bring himself to mind, too much, when Jackson is so _pretty_ when he laughs.

     “Are you excited, hyung?  Are you?”

     Jaebum eyes the beaming grin on Jackson’s face, the way his eyes sparkle underneath the tall, bright lights shouldering the groomed tobogganing hill.  “Not as excited as you are, apparently,” he teases, feeling a grin of his own warming his face through the biting cold.  “But yeah, I am.”

     “When’s the last time you were tobogganing, hyung?  It’s been _ages_ for me.”

     And the smile dims, somewhat, as Jaebum thinks.  He remembers it too well.  Remembers going skiing and snowboarding and tobogganing at 15.  Remembers presenting and suddenly not being allowed to, in case he fell or slipped or got in a crash and damaged his -  

     But this isn’t the time, Jaebum reminds himself.  Not the place.  This is tonight, with _Jackson_.  And Jackson deserves far more than a date who’s stuck in his head and drowning in his memories.

     So Jaebum sees the caution lingering at the corners of Jackson’s gaze, and instead quirks his lips into a grin.  “Too long,” he answers, with a sigh he hopes is more wistful than regretful.  “Last one down the hill buys dinner?”

     And  _there’s_ that spark in Jackson’s eyes.  It completely overtakes the caution, pushing it to the fringes, and Jaebum’s chest settles.  “Oh, you’re _on_ , old man.”

     And Jaebum’s too busy gaping at him and mumbling out a startled, “Yah!” to do much more than watch as Jackson executes a very awkward and somewhat painful-looking running bellyflop onto his toboggan, maniacal laughter following him on the way.

     Even despite it, Jaebum manages to win.  Which is very...suspicious.  Even though Jackson denies adamantly that he rigged the race, pulling out those puppy-dog eyes again to counteract Jaebum’s scowl.

     It works.  Of _course_ it works.

     God, it’s...fun.  More fun than Jaebum’s had in _years_.  He feels like a kid again, all unbridled joy and unrestrained laughter that rings in your chest until your cheeks hurt.  His nose is cold, and his toes a little chilly, but he wants to experience this and remember this for all eternity.

     There are moments, he’s heard, that occur in one’s life that are so wonderful, so delightful and _happy_ that they wish they could live in them forever.  That they wish would never end.  Jaebum hasn’t had many of those moments in his life.

     But this...this is one of them.

     Yes, Jaebum thinks, as Jackson levels that oh-so-warm smile at him at the top of the hill, that smile so bright and brilliant Jaebum’s surprised all the snow just doesn’t melt around them.  This moment is definitely one of them.

     “How’re you doing, hyung?” Jackson asks, sounding breathless.  His cheeks are pink from the cold, and nose tinged with red, and Jaebum thinks he looks so, so precious in his mittens and beanie with pom-pom on top.  “Still having fun?”

     “So much fun, Sseun-ah,” Jaebum tells him, and delights in the way the flush on those cheeks darkens further.

     “I’m glad.”

     “You?  Are you enjoying yourself?”

     “Best night I’ve had in ages, hyung,” Jackson tells him with a wink and goofy grin.

     Jaebum just snorts.

     “Hills are about to close,” Jackson says, glancing down to the bottom of the tobogganing hill.  It’s only then that Jaebum realizes that most of the other tobogganers have cleared out, leaving only himself, Jackson, and a few others braving the cold for the last few runs of the evening.  “How would you feel about ditching one of these sleds and going down together?”

     There’s a hesitance at the corners of Jaebum’s mind he can’t seem to place, but again, those puppy-dog eyes prevail.

     Which is how Jaebum finds himself, after winning a heated game of rock-paper-scissors, sitting at the front of the toboggan and holding his breath as Jackson slides in behind him.

     The toboggan’s small, probably not suited for two grown, adult men to share.  Which means it’s a...decidedly tight fit.  Which also means that Jackson’s chest is pressed right up against Jaebum’s back, and Jackson’s legs are nearly wrapped around Jaebum’s waist, and Jaebum’s throat feels like he hasn’t drank anything in weeks.

     He really, really hopes that Jackson can’t tell how much his hands are shaking as he moves to grip onto the rope at the front of the toboggan.

     “My life is in your hands, hyung,” Jackson murmurs as he wraps his arms around Jaebum’s stomach and props his chin on his shoulder.  All Jaebum can concentrate on is the feeling of Jackson’s breath against his neck, and he tries to pretend his heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to burst out of his chest.  _That’s_ a miserable failure.

     So they maneuver the toboggan to the crest of the hill, and with a final push from Jackson, they go flying.

     Jaebum’s not sure if it’s because of the fresh snow pouring from the snow machines, or the way the day’s use has turned patches of the hill into ice, but he swears they’re going faster than normal.  They speed down the hill, the wind harsh and biting on Jaebum’s cheeks and Jackson’s scream shrill in his ear in a way that leaves him laughing breathlessly.  Jaebum narrowly manages to steer the toboggan out of a collision course with a child who looks far too young to be on a sled by himself, and thinks he should definitely not find it as funny as he does.

     ...and then they hit a bit of a bump.

     Well, it looks like just a bit of a bump, but it turns out to be a bit more than...a bit.  It turns out to be a _legitimate_ bump, because the toboggan hits it and just...goes flying.

     Jaebum’s heart rises in his chest at the feeling of weightlessness.  It’s _fun_ , so so fun, in a way he hasn’t felt probably in his entire life, and Jackson apparently doesn’t agree, because he’s screaming “Hyuunnngggg” in a voice so high in pitch it makes Jaebum laugh.  And Jaebum just keeps laughing, even when Jackson’s flailing as they land makes the toboggan swerve and toss them both into a snowy bundle.

     Jaebum lands in a heap.  It hurts, a little, sends a little tinge down his spine, although the snow muffles the shock.  Even still, he just can’t stop laughing.

     He rolls onto his back, to gaze up at the sky, chest heaving with laughter.  It’s beautiful, so beautiful and the sky’s so clear and there’s a bird, a bright red one, that flutters ahead and even though there’s snow melting on the back of his neck and down his shirt, Jaebum doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so...happy.  Alive.

     Turning his head and seeing Jackson, flopped over on his side and face scrunched up at the snow half covering it, just makes him laugh harder.  He’s so cute, with so much disdain on his features that Jaebum just can’t help himself.

     Neither can Jackson, apparently, because after a moment of staring at Jaebum, blinking through the melting snow, he’s crawling over to swing one leg over Jaebum’s hips and then...

     Jackson’s lowering his mouth to cover his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! I'm so sorry for the super delayed update. The writer's block has been real. But I hope this first date (so far) has been worth the wait!

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I've gotta admit, I'm not sure where this is coming from.
> 
> First time writing GOT7, first time writing ABO dynamics, first time setting out to write a chaptered fic, second attempt at fanfic overall. So we'll see! I'm equally excited and terrified.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Please leave a comment so we can chat. <3


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